


Storm from the East

by Wardown



Series: Storm from the East [1]
Category: game of thrones
Genre: Basically I Claudius/Throne of the Caesars/The Accursed Kings, But she has a ruthless side, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Dark Olenna Tyrell, F/F, F/M, Margaery Has a Ruthless Side, Poor Innocent Tommen, Queen Daenerys Targaryen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 42
Words: 50,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23766199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wardown/pseuds/Wardown
Summary: Essentially a reworking of the Southern plot line in Season 7 A Game of Thrones.  The story starts at Season 6, Episodes 10, but diverges from show canon.
Relationships: Daenerys/Daario, Daenerys/Lord Yohn Royce, Margaery/Euron, Margaery/Tommen, Sansa/Petyr Baelish, daenerys/yara
Series: Storm from the East [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793101
Comments: 599
Kudos: 89





	1. Cersei's End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chss/gifts), [WhiteDragonWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteDragonWolf/gifts), [Mad Targaryen Loyalist (TargaryenPug)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TargaryenPug/gifts), [Sploot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sploot/gifts).



"I've called you many things, Margaery. I won't repeat them. "Kinslayer" however, is not a term I ever expected to use."

"Coming from the woman who murdered her uncle, merely days ago."

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not condemning you. I just never realised how far you were prepared to go. I thought I was the ruthless one, the player who would always be underestimated. But, I underestimated you. I underestimated all of you." Cersei looked up from the desk at which she was seated. At Lady Olenna, staring down at her impassively, with a goblet of wine in her hand; Lord Mace, looking ill at ease; at Ser Garlarn, plainly struggling to hold in his anger. And at Queen Margaery, poised, controlled, giving nothing away, as always. They were in Cersei's chambers in the Red Keep. The very chambers from where she had seen the Great Sept erupt in green flame, a week previously. 

"Don't forget to add your seal to your confession" remarked Lady Olenna. Cersei sighed, dipped her signet ring into the melted golden wax, and applied it to the parchment, underneath her signature. Once the wax had set, Margaery picked up the document. She seethed inwardly, at the things she had been forced to write. But, the Tyrells had been quite ruthless, threatening her with dreadful torments, were she to refuse. Olenna placed the goblet in front of her. The goblet that contained her death.

"The Targaryen whore is poised to invade. You know that, I presume."

"I do" replied Margaery. 

"According to my sources, she has the support of the Dornish, and half the Ironborn, under Yara Greyjoy, and her brother, Theon. With the Unsullied and Dothraki, you'll be facing more than a hundred thousand men.

"The Reach alone can muster that number. I'm sure your own people will rally to your own son as well. The people love him." 

"My son is your pawn, isn't he? That's what I'll never forgive you for, Margaery. Tommen may wear the crown, but you'll be the real monarch, pulling his strings. You know as well as I do, it's not just about numbers. Daenerys has dragons. She can turn your armies to ashes in a matter of minutes. And, if watching my son burn was the price of your survival, you'd happily pay it. If the fortunes of the war turned against you, you'd make him your scapegoat, and hand him over to her in chains." 

For the first time, Margaery's composure wavered. "That's where you're wrong Cersei. You judge us all by your standards. You may find it impossible to understand, but I love your son. He's everything you're not. And, yes, he's everything I'm not. He's honourable, and kind, and pure. He may be a weak man, but he is a good man. Tommen and I will stand or fall together. "

"Do you know what Daenerys did when she captured Meereen? She crucified hundreds of her enemies. She's the Mad King's daughter, Maegor come again. It gives me some comfort to think of you dying by inches, screaming on one of her crosses. But, not my son. " She gave a brief laugh. "You'll never defeat her." 

"Maybe not, but we'll see. One thing's for certain. You won't."

"Get it over with, child" said Lady Olenna. "It's far better than you deserve." 

Cersei stared down at the goblet, for a long moment. Then she asked "What does it contain?" 

"Sweetsleep. It's quite painless, and entirely effective, I assure you." Cersei picked up the cup, and downed the wine in one draft.

"You did us a favour, by destroying the Sparrows. They were a danger to all the nobility," commented Lady Olenna. "Filthy, lice-ridden, disgusting creatures who refused to know their place. Led by a vile fanatic, who made a pretence of piety to cloak his own pride. Now, just ashes." The old woman smiled unpleasantly. 

"And, in order to destroy them, you were willing to sacrifice Ser Loras, your own grandson. You knew what I planned, but you made no attempt to prevent it?" 

"Yes. In order to destroy them, I was willing to sacrifice my own grandson. The needs of our family come before the needs of any single member of it. And Loras was .....unsatisfactory, in so many ways. Sadly, even the most distinguished family trees have to be pruned, on occasion" 

"Ha, I suppose the family that slays together stays together." Cersei began to feel an icy wrongness, creeping up from her stomach. "What will you do to my brother?" she managed to ask. 

"When he returns from Riverrun, we'll tell him the truth" replied Margaery. "That you, Qyburn, and Ser Gregor Clegane, planned the murder of the High Sparrow, the Most Devout, and half of the country's nobility at the Great Sept. That I, my father and my older brother avoided death by the merest chance. That you were filled with shame, once you realised the harm you had caused, and filled with remorse for all the sins you'd committed over the years. That you took your own life, after making a full confession of your crimes. Will he believe it? I don't know. But, his son is the king, and he'll want to protect his son, won't he?" 

"You knew about that, then?" It was so hard to speak, now, her voice sounded as if it came from a hundred miles away. 

"The whole of the Red Keep knows about that, even if we never told you to your face. But, we don't condemn a son for the actions of his parents". 

"Especially not, when he's your route to power, " she whispered. 

"Especially not. Just die, Cersei, you've polluted this world for long enough." She obliged Margaery, slumping forward on to the desk. 

What does Margaery feel at this point? Triumph certainly, and relief. Cersei had been plotting her murder for the past three years. But, equally, grief and guilt. She might possess her grandmother's intelligence, but certainly not her ruthlessness and cunning. After getting wind of the murder plot, she had sent a raven to Olenna, begging her and Ser Garlan to come to the capital at full speed. Once there, she had suggested they move to place Cersei under arrest, and to expose the plot. It was her grandmother who insisted that they do nothing, until after the explosion had occurred. She had pleaded with her to save Loras, only to receive the same reply that Olenna had just given Cersei. Ser Garlan had concurred. Naturally, her father had been appalled by Olenna's suggestion. Equally inevitably, he had bowed to the iron-willed matriarch, the true ruler of the Tyrell clan. And so, Loras, and hundreds of others, had been sacrificed to serve the interests of House Tyrell. With thousands of Tyrell soldiers in and around the city, it had been easy to dispose of Cersei's closest supporters. Ser Gregor had put up a hard fight, but had been overwhelmed in the end. Naturally, Tommen had been distraught to learn of his mother's crime, but immensely relieved to learn that his beloved wife was safe. They had agreed that Cersei must be imprisoned for life for what she had done.

"You think you can persuade the King that his mother took her own life, because she could no longer live with her actions?" asked Ser Garlan. 

"I think I could persuade him that night was day, if I tried" she replied smoothly.

"What we did, was it right? I mean, it doesn't feel right to me," muttered Lord Mace. Olenna glared at him, as if he had sprouted two heads. 

"You are Lord Paramount of the wealthiest of the Seven Kingdoms, and father to a Queen, and you worry about what is right? If you wanted to become a philosopher, you ought to have told my husband and me, and we would have arranged for you to wear a maester's chain. We did what was necessary, that is all. We can all honour Loras' memory, and remember the sacrifice that he made for his family. Life held nothing further for him. He had been condemned for sodomy and heresy, and would have spent the rest of his days as a slave to the High Sparrow. We did him a kindness." 

Margaery swallowed hard, at the sheer callousness of her grandmother's words. Although never particularly religious, she found herself wondering if they had condemned themselves to an eternity of suffering. What could she bring herself to say to her brother, in the world to come? Or to the others who she had allowed to perish?

"Margaery, you have a funeral to arrange" remarked Olenna. "In the circumstances, a state funeral is quite out of the question. I would suggest a private ceremony in the Red Keep, after which Cersei's body will be cremated. Copies of her confession will be distributed across the Seven Kingdoms. " 

"Your will, grandmother" she replied, and left the room, to break the news to her husband.


	2. Nicomedes Conquered Caesar

Daenerys watched impassively, as the half dozen men mounted the scaffold. Tyrion Lannister, stood on her right, Yara Greyjoy and her brother, Theon, on her left. The two Ironborn had arrived in Meereen, the previous day, seeking audience with her. She thought it fitting that they should see her dispense justice. It was mid-day, and the Sun was already scorching hot.

"Lady Missandei" she commented, "you have examined these mens' cases. Is their guilt in any doubt?" 

"None whatsoever, your Grace." 

She addressed the condemned men. "You have been found guilty of having been members of the Sons of the Harpy. In spite of the mercy I offered, you returned to violence and murder. If you have any last words, now is the time." 

One man spat at her defiantly. Another refused to meet her eye. The remainder prayed. When they had finished, she nodded to the executioner, who released a lever, dropping them through trap doors. They died swiftly enough. Strange. Hanging used to be a prolonged process, but here, they had devised a machine that broke the necks of the condemned men. She had no desire to extend their suffering more than necessary. 

"Lord Tyrion, a word" she said, as they turned back to the Great Pyramid. After a short walk, they entered the building. She led him into a chamber on the ground floor. 

"You're an intelligent man. If you wish, I could make you my Lord Hand." She saw him blush. "Of course, I do have to know that you will serve me, utterly, and not your family. I won't hold it against you, if you can't fight them, but I can do no more than give you leave to depart, if that is the case."

"I care nothing for my sister" he replied "do as you please with her. As for my brother. he...." 

"He opened my father's throat. Perhaps, he will open mine, in due course."

"I understand that you have reason to hate him. But, your father intended to murder the entire population of Kings Landing." 

"I know. Its so hard to accept, but my father was an evil man. He burned people for his own amusement. But then, am I so different?" She turned to face Tyrion. 

She saw Tyrion staring at her, surprised. "Of course you're different, your Grace. You're our best hope!" 

"Your best hope! Pity the poor country that depends on me! I'm not a good person, Tyrion. I know it, and you know it. That is the woman you will be serving. " A brief pause. " If he wishes it, I will send your brother to your Wall. "

"And my nephew? He's only fourteen. He's a good lad, but weak." 

"Let him renounce the Iron Throne and pledge fealty, and I shall grant him lands and a castle." 

"Your Grace, I shall happily serve you. But, on one condition." 

"Oh? And what is the that?" 

"I don't tongue royal arses. If I serve you, I must be able to speak my mind." 

"Agreed." 

"Good. Then I must ask why you want this. I want you to rule the Seven Kingdoms, but why do you? The people of the Bay of Dragons love you. " 

"The men I just hanged. Do you think they loved me?" 

"They're a small fraction of the population. The freedmen love you. Why leave this kingdom behind you, to rule a land where the people barely know you?"

"Why indeed?" She remained lost in thought. "There's something you should know. A witch caused me to lose my first child, and cursed me with barrenness. I am the last of my line. House Targaryen dies with me. So, why should I wish to rule a land, where no child of my body can succeed me? A wish to avenge my family? Pride? Ambition? All of those in part, but there is more. You know how I took Astapor, all those years ago, I think?" Tyrion nodded. "The night before I turned the Unsullied, I dreamed that I was my brother, fighting the Usurper on the Trident. Only, my enemies were not human. They were demons of ice, beautiful of form, with eyes like burning blue stars. Yet, they were terrible, too. They would enslave the world. And, my dragons destroyed them. The same dream haunts me, night after night. The world is in peril, Tyrion. I have to reach the Seven Kingdoms." 

"Forgive me, your Grace, but your brother had dreams, too. They ended with him bleeding his life out at the Trident. Dreams can lie." 

"How do you know it was not his destiny to die there? I would never have hatched dragons, if my brother were still alive. My dreams do not lie."

There was an awkward silence, then Tyrion asked, "Tell me of your plans for the invasion." 

"I anticipate being ready to sail in four months. As you know, Daario Naharis has led most of the Dothraki overland to Volantis. That city is on the brink of revolution, and he will make short work of the Triarchs. Transport ships have been assembled in ports along the Bay of Dragons, ready to take the Unsullied and the rest of my army. We will united with Daario at Volantis, before taking the Stepstones. From there, we can unite with the Dornish. Assuming I can reach agreement with the Greyjoys, their ships will protect my transports. " 

"I would take Dragonstone and Driftmark, if I were you. That way, you will have a chokehold over the Blackwater. No ships will reach Kings Landing, without your say so." 

"Good advice. Yes, I'll alter my plans. " 

"A further piece of advice. Even if you cannot bear children, you will have to make a strategic marriage, when you arrive. Daario Naharis must cease to be a part of your life. The Seven Kingdoms would never accept a sellsword as your consort." 

"He's my most talented commander." 

"Then, use him in that capacity. But, a Queen who takes a lover will lose the respect of the followers of the Seven. I know that a King is judged differently, and that's unfair. It's just how things are over there." 

"Noted. Now, let's meet the Greyjoys". 

The afternoon was spent in heated discussion with the Greyjoys. They were a coarse pair, who made the most outrageous demands, in return for offering her their fleet. She was willing enough to concede the independence of of the Iron Islands, "a handful of shit-stained rocks" Tyrion had described them beforehand. But giving them Faircastle, the Shield Islands, the Cape of Eagles, Seagard, Wendish Town on top? "They aren't mine to give away" she replied. "How do you think the lords of the Seven Kingdoms would react, if I just confiscated their lands to hand them to your people." 

"You have three dragons. That is all the authority you need," replied Yara. More perturbing was the way that the woman blatantly ogled her, and crudely propositioned her during the meeting, to Theon's embarrassment, and Tyrion's irritation. She was not averse to the charms of other women, remembering dear sweet Irri, murdered years ago in Qarth by another dear, sweet girl, but she had never met someone as unsubtle about it as the Pirate Queen. Still, perhaps that could be turned to advantage, she mused, as she left the meeting, and retired to her chambers. After supper, she read for a while, before retiring to bed. Sleep, however, evaded her. Slightly nervous, she put a cloak over her shift, left her chambers, and descended several levels, accompanied by a pair of bodyguards. "Wait outside" she commanded, as she reached Yara's bedchamber. She knocked and entered. She was unsurprised to find one of her servant girls in Yara's bed. "Leave us" she said, and the woman left. 

" I want to continue our negotiations," she told Yara. 

"Truly?" said Yara, with a broad grin on her face. 

"Truly. I can't offer you lands which don't belong to the Ironborn. But, I can offer you something else." 

"And, what's that?" 

"Me." She shrugged off her cloak, before removing her shift, standing naked before the Pirate Queen's excited gaze. 

"Sounds like a fair exchange to me" said Yara, laughing, as Daenerys joined her in bed. 

In the morning, she broke her fast with Tyrion, who was frowning at her. Eventually, he remarked "Yara Greyjoy certainly looks like the cat who got who got all the cream this morning." 

"I take it you don't approve." 

"I don't care either way, but I warned you yesterday, how the Faith would react. " 

"Our tryst won't continue after the voyage to the Seven Kingdoms. Yara knows that. And, she's dropped her most outrageous demands. Tyrion, my brother sold me to the Dothraki to get an army. I'll willingly sell myself to Yara Greyjoy to get a fleet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Slavers Bay has been renamed The Bay of Dragons.
> 
> 2.Caesar was alleged, as a young officer, to have prostituted himself to King Nicomedes of Bythinia, in return for obtaining a fleet to assist in the Roman siege of Mytilene. This was a source of endless amusement to his enemies, who called him "The Queen of Bythinia" and to his own soldiers, who sang bawdy songs about it at his triumphs. They sang that Caesar conquered the world, but Nicomedes conquered Caesar. Daenerys tries a similar gambit here, successfully.
> 
> 3\. Although set in the world of the TV show, Dany's prophetic dreams, self-criticism, and somewhat ambiguous sexuality owe more to the books.


	3. The Happy Couple

"At least she felt remorse at the end of her life, Tommen, we must give her that."

"But, she murdered my father and my brother. She murdered hundreds at the Great Sept. How could she? She wanted to murder you and me. How can I even live with the shame of it?"

"You aren't to blame for your mother's deeds, dear. How could you be? She committed terrible sins and crimes. But, she did confess them, and sought to make amends by taking her own life. "

Margaery had just read Cersei's confession to her husband, who cried softly as she did so.

"I, Cersei of House Lannister, must acknowledge my sins and crimes; sins and crimes that I can no longer live with. I confess that I am guilty of the murders of my lord Husband, Robert of House Baratheon, and of my dear son, Joffrey. I am a kinslayer and traitor, beyond hope of redemption. Imprisoned for my many crimes, I can only say that I no longer wish to live with the guilt and shame of my actions. I murdered the High Septon, a man of surpassing holiness and virtue, along with the men and women of the Most Devout, and hundreds of innocents, nobles and smallfolk alike. I intended that my son Tommen, and his wife should die at the Sept, for I wished to usurp his throne. I hungered for power. 

But, there is worse, much worse than this. For, I have profaned the most holy Faith. I have practised blasphemous rites with heretics, defiling the blessed icons of the Seven, in order to invoke the infernal powers. I have sacrificed infants to the Black Goat of Qohor, and the Lord of the Seven Hells. Smeared with their blood, I have lain with countless men and women, coupling with them and performing lewd acts on the altars of holy Septs, in mockery of the Seven. I am a heretic, a blasphemer, and a sodomite. I do not deserve to live. My sins and crimes have found me out. I go now to the justice of the Gods. May the Father deal with me justly, and the Mother deal with me mercifully." 

Margaery had struggled to keep a straight face, as her grandmother had dictated each line of Cersei's confession. The woman's fury had been a joy to behold. Only threats of the direst tortures had compelled Cersei to write each sentence down. Olenna had certainly exacted her pound of flesh from the Lannister. Of course, the one sin they had no intention of letting her confess to was her incest with her brother. Tommen's legitimacy must never be called into question. Olenna had even suggested that they make Cersei confess to having bribed Ellaria Sand to poison her daughter Myrcella as well, beforehand, although she had persuaded her grandmother this was too far-fetched. To be honest, the large majority of it was arrant nonsense, but the smallfolk would lap it up. They loved to believe the worst of their betters. 

"You are a very different person to your mother, Tommen. In fact, you're adorable." Margaery hugged him tight, as he cried. At last, his sobs ended.

"I'm so worried Margaery. Not just about my mother. About everything. The Dragon Queen is coming. They say she bathes in the blood of her victims, and tortures her lovers when she tires of them. What will she do to us? To our people? A King has to be tough, hard, ruthless. I'm none of those things."

"That's why the people love you. That's why I love you. Let me be the one who is tough, hard, ruthless on your behalf." 

"You're right, as always. How can you always be so right?" 

" Not always, Tommen" she replied, shaking her head. "I've made my share of mistakes. But, I'm a decade older than you. I've experienced so much more than you have."

"I'm so lucky to have such a wonderful wife." 

"I'm so lucky to have a lovely husband." 

"I let you down, when I allowed the Sparrows to imprison you."

"You didn't wish to spill the blood of your people. That reflects well on you. And, here we are. My imprisonment is now just a bad memory. " 

"But, your poor brother. He died." 

"I know. I weep for him still. Had I only been able to rescue him."

She did love Tommen, truly. Yet, the boy was so desperate to be loved that it had made him weak, like the first king Aenys. The fault of his unspeakable mother, obviously. The young man simply couldn't see what was in his own best interests. Fortunately, she and her family were on hand to guide him - well, to tell him what to do, really. She would be his Visenya, but this time round, Aenys would be giving Visenya a free hand to deal with his enemies. The Dragon Queen was a dire threat, plainly. Traitorous curs that they were, the Dornish had rebelled in the woman's name. Yara and Theon Greyoy had sailed to join her, but their uncle could be brought on to their side. As to the rest? Well, the capital, the Reach and the West would all hold firm. The North, the Vale, and the Riverlands were all unknown quantities. The first and the third were in total chaos, it seemed. The Boltons had been overthrown by some bastard child of Ned Stark's, and the Freys had all died in mysterious circumstances, dozens of them. Was there a plague raging at the Twins? As to the Vale, it was nominally ruled by a boy, Robyn Arryn, but who was really in charge? She really had to find out what exactly was happening. But, sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. Fortunately, life was not all policy. There were sweet moments, too. 

"Actually, if you wish to make it up to me, there is something you could do" she murmured, huskily. 

"Anything" Tommen asserted. Margaery smiled, and stood up, taking her husband by the hand, and leading him into their bed chamber. She sat down on the edge of the bed, raising her skirts. "Kneel before me" she commanded. The boy complied. She felt like a goddess, to see a king obeying her. 

Gently, she drew his head up between her legs, before saying "Now, do exactly what I tell you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Aenys I was the son of Aegon the Conqueror. He was well-meaning but weak, and rebellion broke out. His aunt, Visenya, wished to crush the rebels, but he refused to let her do so. In all likelihood, she poisoned him, before she and her son, Maegor, unleashed dragon fire on them.
> 
> 2\. In show canon, around this time, Arya had poisoned all the Freys, and Jon and Sansa had defeated and killed Ramsay Bolton.


	4. The Fall of Volantis

Tyrion sat with Daenerys, the Greyjoys, and Missandei, in the shade of the royal pavilion, looking out on the Black Walls of Volantis, beyond their siege lines. Servants supplied them with apricot wine, chilled with ice, welcome indeed in the hot Sun of the East. Their siege engines kept up a constant rain of missiles on the walls. By the time their fleet reached the harbour of Volantis, the outer city had already fallen to Daario Naharis and the Dothraki. The slave majority had revolted on their approach, with the result that the city had fallen with little bloodshed. Of course, it had been thoroughly looted, but there had been little murder or rape, at least on the part of Daario's soldiers. The liberated slaves had taken opportunities to settle old scores. Yet, the Old Blood still rejected their demands for surrender, believing the Black Walls of the inner city to be impregnable. Daenerys' original intention had been to use her dragons to strafe the walls, but Tyrion had warned her of the dangers. The walls were were a hundred feet high, and lined with scorpions and ballistae. Yes, the chances of her being hit were remote, but why take the risk, he insisted? "If we lose you, we lose everything." She had taken his advice, settling for a more methodical approach. Her soldiers had gradually sapped towards the walls, while she had bombarded them with siege equipment.

Yara Greyjoy, well, she was another matter. The term "unethical" hardly did justice to her proposals. She had pointed out that thousands of the freeborn population remained alive, in the outer city. Why not round them up, and drive them before their men up to the Black Walls , using them as human shields? Many of them were related to the Old Blood. It would surely break the defenders' spirits, if they were forced to slaughter their own people. Or else, hurl them by trebuchet at the inner city? At first, he wondered if she was joking, but no, Yara was deadly serious. "There's nothing more dangerous in war than half measures" she insisted. "Let's get our retaliation in first". Thankfully, the Queen had rejected both suggestions, although she was plainly impressed by Yara's commitment to the cause. 

The Queen, it seemed, was just as impressed by Yara's prowess in the bedchamber. The two of them could scarcely keep their hands off each other. Nor was Yara in any way averse to male company, it seemed. No sooner had they met up with Daario, when the three of them had retired to the royal galley for several hours. It needed no imagination to guess what they got up to there, together. One night, more drunk than usual, her hair sprinkled with gold dust, Daenerys had even suggested that Tyrion might like to join them. Gods, she had looked gorgeous, flushed with wine as she was! Not too long ago, he would have jumped at the opportunity, but this time, he made his excuses. He worried that it suggested a certain lack of discipline. The Faith would simply never tolerate such behaviour in a Queen, when they finally arrived at their destination. Or was he just becoming a prude, as he got older?

That night, he had discussed his concerns with Missandei. 

"Your people are strange" she remarked. "Daenerys is a wise ruler. What bearing does any of this have upon how she will govern them? Surely, your Smallfolk care only that they are fed and given justice. " 

"It's the Septons and Septas" he replied. "Four fifths of the population follow the Faith of the Seven. Well, the Dornish do in their own separate fashion - they'd have no objection. But the rest, they would protest. I hate to say it, but they would call her a whore. That would be fatal for the Queen's reputation." 

"Yet, your own sister took your brother for a lover, you tell me?" 

"And, it was one of the reasons for her downfall." News had finally reached them of Cersei's murder plot, her arrest, and her suicide. Not that Tyrion believed for one moment that his sister had taken her own life willingly. One of Lord Varys' agents had brought him a copy of Cersei's "confession" a ludicrous document. Oh, no doubt there was truth mixed in there. But, murdering Joffrey? Sacrificing infants to the Black Goat of Qohor? That was absurd. 

"What you must understand about Daenerys", Missandei had remarked, "is that she does not expect to live long. One attempt after another has been made on her life. She has often said to me, that she cannot outrun her assassins forever. She takes her pleasures, accordingly. But, I do understand that to rule your people, she must act in a manner that they consider seemly. I will discuss this with her. She will see reason. But, allow her one last fling, before she reaches your shores." 

His thoughts returned to the present. Currently she held one of the three Triararchs, as a prisoner. He sat trussed, on the ground in front of them. Daenerys was keen for him to watch the destruction of his world. She also intended to make a demonstration to the defenders. She had learned that the Volantenes had put a price of ten thousand gold Honours on her head. Currently, ten thousand gold Honours were being melted in a travelling forge, on a cart, outside her tent. The smell of burning charcoal and molten metal filled the air. The Triararch repeatedly looked up nervously towards the forge and to the rest of them. She had discussed her intentions for the man with Tyrion and the others. He could not fault the grim justice of what she intended. Daenerys rose and approached the forge. Tyrion saw the air shimmering and twisting above it in the heat. "It is time" she told them. Tyrion, Missandei, and the Greyjoys rose, and walked with her, through their siege lines. They reached the outermost lines, well outside arrow shot from the Walls, but within full view of the defenders. A stake had been rammed into the ground at that spot. Dothraki pushed the cart forward. He turned to see Grey Worm prodding the Triararch forward with his sword. She turned to the Triararch and spoke:

"You offered ten thousand gold Honours for my head. It is past time that I repaid my debt to you."

Grey Worm chained the moaning wretch to the stake. Tyrion heard him babble for mercy, rendered incoherent by terror. Grey Worm casually struck him across the face, to silence him. Tyrion looked on, with a mix of horror and fascination, knowing what was to come. The man must surely understand now what was about to happen, as one of the Dothraki, wearing horsehair gloves, thrust a metal funnel into his mouth. Another Dothraki opened the door to the forge, collecting the liquid metal in a heavy iron crucible. Carefully, very carefully, he carried the crucible in a large pair of tongs towards the doomed man, and then, slowly, very slowly, tipped it into the funnel, still held firm by the other. The sound that the poor man made was like nothing human, as the scalding metal cascaded down his throat.

"What? Do you still give me no thanks for settling my debt?" cried Daenerys, as the Dothraki continued pouring the metal. The man screamed no longer, but made a ghastly rasping noise, as his vocal chords were burned away; he was still just about alive, writhing in his chains. Daenerys made a vulgar gesture at the defenders, before turning and walking back. She turned to Grey Worm and said "When he's dead, open him up and recover the gold." They returned to the tent. The Queen ordered a round of pastries. Tyrion wondered how she could eat after what they had just witnessed, necessary though it was. 

The moment of the final assault was fast approaching. Daario joined them, confirming that after a fortnight's continuous bombardment, cracks were starting to appear in the Walls. They watched the bombardment with interest, over the course of several hours. Quite suddenly, one of the towers in the wall began to totter, and then slowly fell outwards, spilling its defenders on to the ground. The attackers now directed the fire from the siege engines onto the walls on either side of the fallen tower, steadily widening the breach.

It was time to begin the final assault. But, quite suddenly, the main gates to the city opened. Tyrion saw a delegation approaching them, bearing white flags. "It's late to be seeking mercy" he commented. 

" I would spare the lives of my men, if I can, even so" replied the Queen. He saw the men taken under guard by the Dothraki, and brought before them. They knelt before her. 

"Your Grace", began the leader. "You are the victor. It is for us to seek mercy, and for your Grace to grant it." 

"Bold of you to request clemency, when so many of my men have perished". 

"I am instructed to offer you terms of surrender." 

"Spare your breath. These are my terms. You have one hour to accept them. You will open your gates, and allow my men to enter. You will hand over to them all your gold, silver, and precious stones. You will hold nothing back. You will deliver up the remaining slaves, who are to be set free. And, you will render to me, the two remaining Triararchs in chains, together with every member of your ruling council. They will face my judgement." 

The men looked up, astonished. "What are you proposing to leave us?" asked the leader. 

"Your lives. The lives of your women and children. One hour." The men rose, and were led back towards the city. An hour later, Tyrion saw the main gates open again, as a crowd walked out, some of them bearing white flags as before. He looked up, to see other gates and posterns being opened. In the centre of the crowd, were a group of men in chains. Daenerys ordered that inhabitants of Volantis should be summoned to identify the men. She feared that they might be offering her up scapegoats. But no, they were the men she had requested, fifty six in total. She gave her order, to Grey Worm: 

"These men are to be impaled. In two rows, on either side of the road leading up to the Black Walls." 

Two hours later, they rode up to the main gate, Tyrion trying, but failing to block the cries of the screaming, writhing men, on their poles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help reusing the molten gold scene from The Dragon Awakes. Apart from that, Daenerys was a good deal more merciful towards the Volantenes than she was in that earlier story.


	5. An Interlude in the Water Gardens

"Such charming creatures, your Highness" remarked Lord Varys, as he watched the two bears, capering in their pit, in happy mood. "What are their names?"

"Innocence and Gold Dust, my Lord" replied Lady Ellaria Sand. "She-bears from the Wolfswood. They have a taste for human flesh." Varys looked again at them, with interest. He had never been taken to the bear pit, on previous visits to the Water Gardens. The palace had always seemed a place of innocence and charm to him, and yet, the politics of Dorne was a deadly game, with few merciful players. It rather surprised him in fact, that Prince Doran should have been unaware of the vipers that he harboured within his bosom. The man had always struck him as shrewd and subtle, yet even the most talented players of the game could always make mistakes. There was only one price to be paid for such errors. 

"I imagine you made good use of them, when you overthrew Prince Doran." 

"Some families were recalcitrant. We made examples, where necessary." 

"I'm sure you did. I must say, I am quite famished myself." 

"Where are my manners? I trust you will join us for supper." 

"I should be delighted."

They enjoyed an early supper, with Ellaria's daughters, Obara, Tyene, and Nymeria. Varys did enjoy Dornish cooking. A dish of prawns with chillies, followed by a cold tomato and cucumber soup. Then curried goat, and finally oranges, dates and figs with wafers. Each accompanied by its own wine. They discussed Daenerys' progress in general terms. Volantis, and the Bay of Dragons had been left in a peaceful condition, under the rule of her archons. Further resources could be drawn from them, if required. At length, the young women departed. 

"Such charming girls, each one more lovely than the last" he remarked. "Were I whole man, I would happily take any one of them in marriage". Ellaria smiled at the compliment. 

"I imagine you did did not come here to praise my daughters. I trust you have news for me, my Lord".

"Good and ill. Which would you hear first?" 

"The ill. " 

"The conquest of the Stepstones is largely complete, but Daenerys will not come to Dorne, after all. However, Daario Naharis will bring fifteen thousand of her men to Plankytown. You will combine your forces with his, and march through the Stormlands, and the Kingswood. You are to menace Kings Landing, but not to take it. His army will comprise a mix of Unsullied, and Dothraki screamers. 

"But, that was not what we agreed. Dorne was to be a secure base, from which we would conquer the Reach and the Stormlands. The marches are to be annexed to Dorne." 

"Her strategy has changed. She aims to take Driftmark, Dragonstone, and surrounding districts. She will close the Blackwater to shipping, and strangle Kings Landing. It's bold, I'll give her that. But risky. Too risky in my view, but her commanders approve. " 

"Dividing our forces, Varys? I don't like it. I don't like it at all. What if she encounters Euron Greyjoy on the high seas." 

"She relies on her dragons to protect her ships. There is more. She intends to offer clemency to both the boy Tommen, his wife, the Tyrells and their bannermen, and the Kingslayer, should they bend the knee". 

"For the Gods' sake! The murderer of her own father! Foolish child. I would give them all an eternity of suffering!" 

"I know, I know. Blame the influence of the half-man. Queen Daenerys is in many ways, an admirable young woman, but she shares many of the weaknesses of young women. Among them, is an inclination towards mercy. Most commanders would have decimated the Old Blood of Volantis. " Varys shook his head mournfully at such stupidity. 

"My daughters are young women. They do not share such a weakness, believe me. And the good news?" 

"A decree of legitimacy as Martells for you and your daughters, and your investiture as reigning Princess of Dorne." 

"That is no more than we had agreed." 

"There is more. She plans to appoint Obara and Tyene to her Small Council. She wishes to form an assessment of their abilities. They will accompany her, on campaign." 

"Or she will keep them as hostages?" Varys smiled. 

"You need to know that she cannot bear children. She needs an heir. The blood of the Targaryens flows through the veins of your daughters. There are other families, such as the Plumms, the Hightowers, and Arryns who bear such a heritage, but the links between her family and yours are more recent. And, I think she feels a degree of embarrassment at the insult done to the Princess Elia by her brother. She wishes to make amends." 

"Now that is a very interesting thought" remarked Ellaria, after a short pause. 

"Just think. Were she, may the Gods forbid, to fall in the wars to come, or fall victim to an assassin.........your progeny might inherit the whole of the Seven Kingdoms."

"I believe that we understand each other, Lord Varys." The eunuch merely smiled. 

"I promised you Fire and Blood, my lady, your heart's desire. The Queen's offer of clemency to her enemies is conditional upon their willingness to perform homage to her. She will attempt to negotiate with her opponents, but were negotiations to fail.......well, perhaps she could be persuaded that stern, old-fashioned, severity was in order.

Ellaria smiled, knowingly. "I'm sure she could, at that. Well, Lord Varys, you have given me much for food for that. Enjoy our hospitality a day or two longer, and my daughters will accompany you, when you leave to join the Queen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Gibbon, the Roman Emperor Valentinian kept two bears, named Innocentia (Innocence) and Mica Aurea (Gold Dust), to whom he enjoyed feeding criminals, personal enemies, and old crones convicted of practicing magic. 
> 
> The passage is worth quoting in full:-
> 
> "Two fierce and enormous bears, distinguished by the appellations of Innocence and Mica Aurea, could alone deserve to share the favour of Maximin. The cages of those trusty guards were always placed near the bed-chamber of Valentinian, who frequently amused his eyes with the grateful spectacle of seeing them tear and devour the bleeding limbs of the malefactors who were abandoned to their rage. Their diet and exercises were carefully inspected by the Roman emperor; and when Innocence had earned her discharge, by a long course of meritorious service, the faithful animal was again restored to the freedom of her native woods. "


	6. The Royal Progress

"Have you heard of crucifixion?" asked Euron Greyjoy. " It's awesome. I once managed to keep a man alive for four days on a cross. We forced water down his throat, so he didn't die of thirst, and wrapped him in furs, against the cold of the night. Margaery found her stomach roiling. It was one thing to seek this man out as an ally. Quite another, to have to enjoy his company. 

"There's lots of stuff I've done. Burning, flaying, impaling, even choking a man on his own dung, but I think crucifixion's the best. " There was a look like ecstasy on his face. The stories about the man were all true, it seemed. He was a wild beast in human form. 

"The Dragon Queen enjoys it, I believe." 

"Seems a pity she and I are enemies" laughed Euron. "We could swap ideas." 

Margaery frowned. "I trust that you and she *are* enemies," she replied. 

"Of course. My dear niece wants to steal my kingdom. The kingdom you've recognised. I'll fight them. I've got some nice ideas in mind for my niece and nephew, once I've captured them. " 

"I'm sure you have. Perhaps some other time." 

They had hammered out a deal over supper at Casterly Rock. Kings Landing would recognise the rule of Euron Greyjoy as King of the Iron Islands, together with as much of the North as he could conquer. The Northmen wanted their independence, so let them live with the consequences. In return, he would provide them with the Iron Fleet. She had sealed the deal in his bedchamber over the course of several nights; a disagreeable task, but necessary. The man had insisted. The only problem was that she found herself with child, three months on. Euron's or Tommen's, she couldn't be sure? She only hoped to the Gods that it didn't look like the pirate warlock, when she gave birth. She and Tommen had been drumming up support throughout the Reach and Westerlands for the coming war, after the death of Cersei. The West had been hard-hit in the wars, but the Reach was barely affected. All of her father's principal Bannermen, Tarly, Hightower, Redwyne, Florent, were mustering fresh armies. Tommen had eventually returned to the capital, leaving her to negotiate with Euron Greyjoy, and now, the Lords of the Riverlands. At least Edmure Tully was much more agreeable company. They sat together in his solar, with his wife, Lady Rosyln, sipping wine. 

"So, you're telling me that a girl claiming to be Arya Stark, who we all thought had died years ago, poisoned the entirety of House Frey?" 

"It's what I've been told. I was in the dungeons at the time." 

"Did you see it Roslyn?" 

"No. I was in Maidenpool, but I've heard the same story from my relatives. " 

"So, who's in charge at the Twins? " 

"At the moment, Lady Amerei. She's got a young son, so I suppose he'll take over, when he comes of age."

"I'll have to meet them, on my way back to the capital. My lord husband will of course, be investing you both as Lord and Lady of the Riverlands, as soon you come to do him fealty. I trust that you do not favour your Northern relatives' declaration of independence?" 

"Have no fear", replied Edmure. "I have little time for them. Robb Stark led the Riverlands to disaster, and then he had the nerve to blame me for the mistakes he made on campaign. As for independence, well, that's a daft idea. Who do they expect will feed them when famine comes, or protect their coasts from the Ironborn?" 

"Your Grace, are you not worried that the Dragon Queen might strike a deal with the Northmen?", asked Roslyn.

"Everything I've heard about her suggests she would never agree to the break up of the Seven Kingdoms". 

"Must it come to war?" asked Edmure. 

Margaery had thought the answer was obvious, but the more she considered his question, the more she wondered. After a while, she replied "There is no history of bad blood between her family and mine. We were loyal to House Targaryen to the bitter end. We held the South against Robert Baratheon, and put his brother Stannis under siege at Storms End. So, she has no reason to seek revenge against us, for the crimes against her family. The only one of her enemies left alive is the Kingslayer. But, my lord husband is King, I am Queen, and neither of us is minded to abdicate. Still, grievous wrongs were done to her House. Perhaps we could offer to make amends, restore Summerhall, Dragonstone, other estates that belonged to her family. Grant her the title of Princess. It's not as if we have any claim to her lands in the East." _And hand over the Kingslayer in chains, as well, if she demands it. ___

There had been a very tense meeting with the man, when he returned with his soldiers to the capital. It was plain he did not believe for one moment, that his sister had taken her own life willingly. But, he had no option but to support Tommen. How could such a sweet child have such appalling parents? Yes, best that the father go the same way as the mother. Free from both their influence, the boy would be moulded into her devoted slave.

"May the Gods grant us peace" said Roslyn. "The Riverlands are laid waste." That was true enough. No part of the Seven Kingdoms had suffered worse. Everwhere she had seen burnt out villages, blackened fields, and desolate manors, as she rode towards Riverrun. There was talk of a wolf-pack, led by a beast of monstrous size, that feasted on human flesh across the district. She'd listened as peasants told her the most heart-rending tales of murders and rapes. Still, this could all be turned to advantage. They blessed her as she distributed alms, food, and clothing, and cradled their children in her arms. "Good Queen Margaery" they were starting to call her.

"Hope for peace, but prepare for war", she replied.

"And if it comes to war, how do we defeat dragons?" asked Edmure.

"They aren't invincible. Meraxes was slain at the Hellholt. Others were killed by men, during the Dance. We have the advantage of numbers, and my lord husband and I are loved by the people of the capital, the Reach and the West. Would the Dragon Queen burn millions of the people she wants to rule? She's a ruthless woman, obviously, but nothing I've heard tells me she's a monster." 

"She's the daughter of the Mad King" muttered Roslyn. 

"True. But none of us is doomed to be the same as their parent. ". _Just ask Tommen._

Would the Dragon Queen burn millions? She pondered the question again, as she rode up towards the Lion Gate, a fortnight later. She'd make sure to move herself and her family out of the Red Keep, into the city centre, and billet her soldiers among the civilian population. If Daenerys wanted her dead, she'd damn well make sure she had to destroy half a million people with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. It was quite unfair of Robb Stark and the Blackfish to criticise Edmure Tully, for defeating Lord Tywin's advance guard, when they never told him they planned to lead the Lannisters West.
> 
> 2\. The giant wolf is Nymeria.
> 
> 3\. Queen Rhaenys, and her dragon, Meraxes, were killed by a scorpion bolt at the Hellholt.
> 
> 4\. What Margaery has in mind to offer Daenerys is a similar status to the King of England being Duke of Acquitaine.


	7. Dragonstone

"Shall we begin?" remarked Daenerys. 

She sat in the Painted Chamber at Dragonstone, hosting a strategy meeting. Present were Tyrion, Varys, Missandei, Grey Worm, the Greyjoys, Tyene and Obara Sand. Daario remained absent, following his landing at Dorne. She avoided Yara's occasional reproachful glances. Missandei had explained to her in quite blunt terms what her intended subjects expected from a female ruler. From now on, she would be a model of decorum, as boring and prudish as they demanded. She had begun attending daily services in the Sept at Dragonstone. The Septon was giving her regular lessons on The Seven Pointed Star, and she would shortly be formally inducted into the Faith. She was no atheist. All her life, she had been convinced that each of their gods had a power of their own. But, Tyrion had been quite insistent; It would not be enough for her simply to tolerate the Faith. Any ruler of the Seven Kingdoms must be an adherent to it. Oh, but it was so hard! In the East, no one expected chastity or sobriety from their rulers, male or female, or cared what religion they followed. They even thought of prostitution as a sacred calling. The urge to indulge in wine, and drugs, and sex gnawed at her constantly. She had discovered her true nature in the Khalasar. Watching others making love before her, and being watched in turn, was just so thrilling. Perhaps, when her work was done, she could retire to private life, and indulge herself one last time, before she died. She heard her dead brother, Viserys, laughing at her in her mind. _Retire to private life? Fool that you are! You will die screaming! And soon!_

for a moment, her concentration wavered, before she focused again. 

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"The campaign has gone well, so far", she began. "Too well, really, I had expected to encounter the Iron Fleet, on the high seas. But, I've yet to spy them, despite flying hundreds of miles on Drogon. That worries me. Still, we hold Tarth and Dragonstone. Lord Velaryon will arrive here tomorrow, to pledge fealty, as will Sunglass, and Bar Emmon. Massey, Staunton, Celtigar, and Rosby have all written to pledge allegiance. Tweny thousand soldiers have now disembarked on the mainland, and we have seven thousand here. It's a good start. But, I always expected to win support in the Crownlands. The going will be harder from now on.

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"I have more news your Grace" commented Varys. "Princess Sansa Stark has arrived by ship from Winterfell. She requests audience." She had known, through intermediaries, that the new King in the North, Jon Snow, sought to strike a bargain with her. She had discussed in detail, with her advisors, just what they were prepared to offer the North.

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"Send word that I shall meet her in the throne room, within two hours. As you know, Duskendale is defiant. "Your family lost the right to rule, due to the deeds of your monstrous father, and your rapist brother, " Lord Rykker has written to me. Very well. I would prefer to achieve my ends peacefully, and by negotiation, but I suggest that it is time to make an example of that family, as my father did with the Darklyns".

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"Surely not?" suggested Tyrion. "What your father did to Lady Serala was abominable. He tore out her tongue and private parts, and then he burned her alive." 

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"That is not exactly my intention. My aim is to fly to the town, and burn the Dun Fort to the ground. " 

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"Agreed!" affirmed Yara Greyjoy, slamming her hand down on the table. The Sands and Varys nodded vigorously. 

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"One harsh lesson will avoid more bloodshed, further down the line. Better that a few hundred die, than that I should be forced to kill tens of thousands. I must show them what I am capable of, before I open negotiations." 

"But, why negotiate at all?" asked Tyene Sand. "With your dragons, you could reduce the capital to molten slag, and your enemies to dust." 

"I could. I think we're all in agreement that Cersei Lannister was forced to take her own life, after her power bid failed. Had she succeeded in taking the Iron Throne for a time, I would simply have burned the Red Keep to the ground, brought my armies to the capital, and taken it by storm. She was hated, and few would have fought to the bitter end for her. It may never even have come to a fight. They might have just handed her over to me in chains. However, Tommen and Margaery are viewed quite differently. In order to kill them, I would have to kill tens, maybe hundreds of thousands, of people. Leaving aside the morality of such an action, I would be hated here for the rest of my life. An extremely short life, I imagine. If there is an alternative, then I will pursue it. Each of her advisors assented. "Good, now let us get ready to meet Sansa Stark."

Later, she was seated on the throne, to receive the Stark Princess. She wore a purple gown, and pearl headdress. Her bosom was ablaze with jewels, her hair sprinkled with gold dust. She wanted to impress. What were this Northern family like, she wondered? Magical, like her own, it seemed. They could warg into direwolves she was told, a bond similar to that between her and Drogon. 

"Her highness, Princess Sansa Stark of Winterfell" announced a chamberlain. Before her stood a most beautiful red-haired woman, staring at her out of the coldest blue eyes she had ever seen. Almost like the eyes that haunted her dreams, Next to her stood a middle aged man in grey robes, a Maester's chain around his neck. "Maester Wolkan" called the chamberlain. 

Missandei stepped forward and announced. "You stand in the presence of Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of her name, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of the Bay of Dragons, Triararch of Volantis for life, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men." She wondered how Sansa Stark would take that. After a moment's pause, the woman curtseyed, saying "Your Grace." Maester Wolkan performed a court bow. 

Then she stood, and addressed her again. "In addressing you as Your Grace, I acknowledge your rule of your Eastern realms, and your rightful claim to the lands South of the Neck. My brother, Jon Snow, King in the North, and I wish you nothing but success in reclaiming the Iron Throne. In no sense am I acknowledging that you are Queen of the North." Daenerys had been expecting this, and remained impassive. 

"For what purpose do you seek audience?" 

"Your enemies are our enemies. On behalf of my lord brother, I propose a mutual alliance against those enemies. But as equals. The North has its own king, and will always have its own king." 

"Agreed." She saw a slight look of surprise in Sansa's face, before the woman recovered. "Your Highness must be tired after your voyage. My chamberlain will lead you to your quarters. Perhaps you will do me the honour of joining me for supper, this evening, and we shall discuss the terms of our alliance in detail. 

That evening, Daenerys and Sansa dined together in her private quarters. Maester Wolkan, Tyrion, and Missandei joined them. Initially, they made general conversation, about Sansa's journey, the war that she and Jon had fought to regain Winterfell, and the fate of Sansa's second husband. She chuckled appreciatively as Sansa told her " He liked to hunt people with his hounds. Young women for preference, but he wasn't choosy. If they gave him good sport, he named the pups after them. He murdered my brother, Rickon. I won't tell you what he did to me. But, he had kept them very hungry, before the battle. He planned to feed my brother and other prisoners to them. Instead, I fed him to them. I'll never forget the look of surprise on his face, just before they ripped it off. I'm told they could hear his screams half a mile away. His dying took a long time." 

"Gods forbid I ever got on your wrong side" said Tyrion. 

"You were both married?" remarked Daenerys. 

"We were both forced into it" replied Tyrion. "Neither of us took it seriously". After a pause, the real business of the evening. 

"I will acknowledge your brother, as King in the North, your Highness. But, there are conditions. 

"What conditions?" asked Maester Wolkan. Sansa looked at her suspiciously. 

"In the East, they have a term for a lord of Kings. Basileus. I propose taking that title, in respect of the Seven Kingdoms. Dorne will have its own Princess, the North will have its own King. The North will be governed by its own laws, will raise its own armies, and all taxes raised by your brother will be spent in the North. " 

"Please continue, your Grace" 

"The North will use the same coinage as the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Goods and people will move freely between North and South. The right to negotiate treaties with foreign powers, on behalf of all Seven Kingdoms, will remain vested in my government. The North, like Dorne, will have its own permanent seat on the Small Council, to represent its king. In war against a foreign enemy, the armies of the North will come under my overall command. That is my offer to you and your brother. I doubt if Tommen will offer more." 

"Tommen? You mean the whore he married, and her vile grandmother." 

"And you were once so close" remarked Tyrion. 

"To be betrayed by an enemy is one thing. To be betrayed by friends, quite another. Believe me, I'd have the pair of them begging for the death I gave Ramsay Bolton, if I could." 

The intensity of Sansa's hatred took Daenerys aback. This was a hard, cold, bitter woman, she realised. No doubt, her experiences had made her such. "Your Grace, forgive me. I digress. There are many details that must be ironed out, but in principle, I believe your terms will be acceptable." 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Seven Pointed Star is the Bible of the Faith.
> 
> 2\. I have always taken the view that Margaery and her grandmother very cynically befriended Sansa, before framing her and Tyrion for Joffrey's murder. Margaery had to be aware of the plot, in order to avoid drinking poisoned wine.
> 
> 3\. The terms that Daenerys offered Sansa are similar to those negotiated between Bismarck and the Bavarian government in 1870/71. Bavaria remained a sovereign state within the German Empire.


	8. The Princess and the Queen

Sansa could not sleep, so she put on a fur coat, and left her chambers in the Drum Tower. It was blowing hard outside, but she needed fresh air. She ascended the tower's winding staircase, and came up onto tower's flat roof. To her surprise, Daenerys was standing at the parapet, staring down at the waves. A pair of bodyguards stood a discreet distance away. She went to join the Queen.

"Do you really hate the Tyrells, that much?" she asked after a while. 

"I'd destroy them, root and stem, if I could. " 

"Tyrion told me more about what happened. I can understand that you'd hate Olenna. She's a heartless woman by all accounts, but Margaery? I'm told the small folk of the capital adore her." 

"It's all an act, your Grace. That woman is a snake. " 

"I understand your feelings. Truly, I do. But, she is only a young woman. If her family instructed her to befriend you, while intending to betray you, what choice would she have had in the matter? Most women can only do as their fathers or husbands instruct them. I will offer them mercy." 

"That would be a mistake, your Grace, if I may say so. Wounded tigers should not be left alive." 

"Would you kill Tommen, too? He's a boy of fourteen" Sansa hesitated. 

"Rickon was younger, when he was murdered. Robb wasn't much older, when he was murdered by his hosts, on the orders of that boy's grandfather. But, perhaps......you could have him blinded and gelded, and then sent to the Citadel or the Wall." 

Dany gave a snort of laughter, before saying "And, I thought I was the ruthless one! You're a hard woman, your Highness!"

"I've had to be. My brother has many qualities, but he lacks ruthlessness. I have to make up for it." 

"I can't start my reign by mutilating a boy, and slaughtering his family. The people would hate me for it!" 

"The people are sheep. Keep them fed and entertained, and they'll cause you no problems."

" My dearest friend used to be a slave. A privileged slave, but still, nothing more than a chattel to the man who owned her. I would never describe her in such terms. The commons may surprise you." 

Sansa didn't know how to respond. A mild rebuke is still a rebuke. 

"I have another reason for offering mercy. A storm is coming to the Seven Kingdoms. The Others are waking." 

"What do you know of the Others, your Grace! My brother speaks of the White Walkers, and the Night King!" 

"The Night King. Is that what your brother fears? Oh no, I've seen them in my dreams, night after night. The Night King is simply the first finger on the right hand of he who will come eventually. The demons he commands are merely the advance guard, sent to test our defences. The Crawling Chaos, the Great Other, that is what we must truly fear. He is terrible! He will plunge the world into an icy darkness that never ends. He will be the death of me, but the world may live." 

Had Jon not spoken of what lay North of the Wall, she would have thought this woman was as mad as her father. Yet, if she was right, their peril was far greater than even Jon realised. 

"How do you know all this?" 

"My dreams come true. And, I have had various divinations carried out. They reveal potential futures. In one of them, your brother betrays me, and plunges a knife in my heart. That way lies disaster for the world. In another, I am defeated and executed in this war. Again, disaster. In another, the true enemy is finally destroyed on the Trident, matching the first dream I ever had of him. But, in no future do I survive. It seems so unfair, don't you think? I have to fight to save this country, but I will never get to see that victory. If there is a victory. And, I don't know if I have the strength or skill to do it anyway." 

"You walked into a fire with three stones, and emerged with three dragons. The Gods must have some plan for you. As for my brother, why would he do such a thing?" 

"He was misled. But, you see now, why I have to lead a united country. Why I will try to avoid war, as much as it lies within my power." For some time, the Queen remained silent. Then "Your uncle has bent the knee to Tommen. Can you bring yourself to fight him?" 

"Relations between us are not good. He blames my brother for his peoples' sufferings, and of course, his wife has poisoned his mind. She is the daughter of Walder Frey, the man who betrayed Robb. I have a sister, Arya, who I thought dead. But, she has returned to Winterfell. She poisoned Lord Frey, and all his spawn. In any case, my brother will lead the army. In truth, Jon is my half-brother, and has no blood tie to my uncle. The curse of the kinslayer won't fall on him, should my uncle die." 

"Good. How many men can the North muster?" 

"We've been bled white. Perhaps fifteen thousand now. " 

"Please send word to your brother to march for the Riverlands. I want no reinforcements to come from Riverrun. " 

"I'll do so, your Grace. May I talk more of the terms of our alliance?" 

"Of course. " 

"Your title. Might I suggest Protector of the Seven Kingdoms? My brother's vassals would find that easier to accept. They must accept your lead in war, but they would not be happy if they thought of their own king as a vassal to you." 

"I will require an oath from your brother, to accept the terms of our agreement. But, other than that, I will not seek homage from him. I agree your suggestion. Anything else?" 

"Famine is a constant threat in the North. Will you guarantee that food will be sent North, at prices that are reasonable, if our crops or game should fail." 

"That seems reasonable. How can your people fight, if they are starving?"

At last, Sansa felt sleep stealing over her. "Goodnight, your Grace" she murmured, before turning for the staircase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Eastern Empire, blinding and other forms of mutilation were often practised as an alternative to execution. 
> 
> Although, blinding could be used as a method of execution. Irene of Athens had her son blinded so brutally, that he died a few days later. She probably lacked maternal sentiment.


	9. The Defiance of Duskendale.

"Yield within the week, and you may remain as Lord of Duskendale. Yield, and your sons will live to rule after you. I have thirty thousand men within the Crownlands. Defy me, and your line shall end."

Her message deliberately echoed that of her great ancestor, Aegon I, to Harren the Black. Three ravens had been sent from Dragonstone to the Dun Fort, bearing a copy of the same letter, addressed to Lord Rykker. No reply had come back. It was time to make an example. The man had two adult sons, and a daughter, married to a neighbouring lord. He had no infant children, and so, there was no reason to spare the family. At dawn, Daenerys rose, and Grey Worm helped her into a suit of plate armour, made to her measure. In the main courtyard of the palace, Drogon reared up, and bellowed a greeting. Rhaegar and Viserion began to stir. As well as Grey Worm, several Unsullied were present, along with Missandei, and surprisingly, Sansa. 

"I can't resist seeing a dragon take flight. Arya would want to ride with you, if she was here."

"You can if you wish." 

"Absolutely not. I'd be petrified. May the Gods' speed, your Grace. " Daenerys fastened the chains that would attach her to the great beast, and then she mounted him. Drogon trumpeted again, and beat his wings furiously, as they rose into the sky. There really was nothing like flying! At least this was one pleasure still allowed her, probably the most enjoyable of them all. Drogon rose in circles, until they were about three hundred feet in the air, and then she tapped him with her whip, turning him towards Duskendale. The port city was one hundred and fifty miles away, perhaps two and a half hours' flying time. If her spies were correct, Lord Rykker was relying upon a formidable array of scorpions and ballistae to protect the Dun Fort from attack by dragon. And, if her spies were correct, they would avail him nothing.

The Sun sparkled and shimmered on the waves, as she flew. Even at this height, she could see the reflection of the great beast she flew in the water below. She found herself wondering again about Euron Greyjoy. The man's ships were somewhere in the Blackwater Bay, so why could she not locate them? He was an animal in human form, so she was told, but cunning beyond measure. Still, he was a problem for another day. After a couple of hours' flight she saw smoke in the distance. Duskendale! She tapped Drogon again, and he veered right, flying inland. In place of the sea, she saw farmsteads, flocks, rivers, and low hills. She wondered what people would think, looking up to see a dragon for the first time in their lives. Would they feel wonder or terror? Maybe both. She turned Drogon South, racing back towards the sea, descending, but picking up speed. At last, she spied the Dun Fort, its famous drum towers dominating the skyline. Lord Rykker and his followers had no idea what it was to wake the dragon, but they would learn!

Her spies had been correct. None of the defenders' artillery was facing inland. They expected an attack from the sea. She sped low over the outer wall, hearing cries of alarm, aiming for the Keep. "Dracarys" she cried, and Drogon's fire engulfed the building. Windows melted, joists, beams, and floors burst into flame. Within a minute, the stone walls were melting, running down like lava. The Keep resembled nothing more than a gigantic candle. She fancied she heard screams from inside it. And that was to the good! She could it admit it to herself, now. More than wine, sex, flying, what she loved above all was killing! With a great blow from his tail, Drogon collapsed the building in on itself, reduced now to a mass of rocks glowing red and gold. She raced towards the outer wall and the bastions which faced the sea. Some fools were trying to turn the artillery to face her, far too late. She withered them with flame, turning them and their weapons into ashes. Then systematically, callously, she spent the next half hour reducing the castle to molten slag and kindling. Wooden buildings exploded, stone ones melted. And she rejoiced. This was the terrible justice, the awesome beauty of being a dragon. Young and old, rich and poor, they were all prey to her. She was the storm in the high places, the bringer of divine justice. She felt like a god as she immolated the surviving inhabitants, as they ran hither and yon. They deserved no mercy; the dragon has no pity for the sheep. She heard the sound of bells ringing wildly, in the distance. Duskendale itself! 

"Burn them all, sweet sister, burn them all! Show them the meaning of our House words," she heard her brother scream. Gods yes, she would reduce the town and its people to ash. Make a horror that the bards would shudder to sing of for a thousand years! She would avenge her family, show to the world that fealty is not an option, but a duty. She readied herself to slaughter thousands, and then flew straight for the port. She laughed as she saw the human animals running through the streets, screaming. Let them run. Their deaths were a thing already written. 

But, No! Gods, No! What was she even thinking? To be Queeen over charred bones and cooked meat! Queen of the Ashes? Is that really what she wanted? Was she a monster? Oh, Gods, no! Just as she prepared to open the gates of hell, she caught herself. She struck the dragon hard, veering back towards the sea. She wept and shook, reacting to what she had been about to do. What she had done. Barely conscious now, she let the dragon fly her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Lord Rykker made exactly the same mistake as the British at Singapore, in 1942. They never anticipated an overland attack.
> 
> Edit: Sploot has pointed this out as a popular misconception. A better analogy is Stalingrad. When the Soviets began their battle of encirclement, their tanks attacked from flanks and rear, even as the German armour remained facing the city.
> 
> 2\. Basically, Dany goes berserk, but just about manages to pull back from the brink. Civilians did die at the Dun Fort, but it was a legitimate target. Violence can never be finely calibrated.
> 
> 3\. In terms of realpolitik, however, Dany made a big mistake here. Can you guess what it was?


	10. The Aftermath of Duskendale

Lady Olenna examined the ruins of the Dun Fort with a keen interest. One could hardly believe that a mighty castle had stood here, a fortnight ago. In place of it were piles of rocks, and twisted and melted stone. And everywhere ashes; wood and human remains, she assumed. She had travelled here, with Ser Garlan, Lord Mace, and Lord Randyll Tarly, her son's ablest commander. In her present condition, they had agreed it was best for Margaery to remain in the capital. Currently, the Queen and Tommen resided in a manse in the centre of the city. "Sharing the peoples' hardships" her granddaughter had said. Saving herself from the Dragon Queen's wrath, in reality. But, the Smallfolk still lapped it up. 

Tarly and her son both approached. Tarly looked contemptuous, her son, frightened. Well, that was no surprise. 

"Soft as butter, my lady" commented Tarly. "A foolish girl who plays at war, and thinks she can keep her hands clean." 

"What are talking about, Tarly?" spluttered Mace. "She crucified her enemies at Meereen. She impaled the Council of Volantis. She did this, and yet you think her soft. What on earth do you call this?" 

"What do I call this? I call it what it is. Our path to victory. I make a point of studying the campaigns of other commanders, examining their strengths and weaknesses. Oh, I don't deny she has a flair for strategy and leadership, but she lacks the killer instinct . She proved it a fortnight ago, on this very spot. Your son, Ser Garlan, has spoken with the Smallfolk of the town. They say she flew at them, frightening them, before flying away. Therefore, she does not wish to harm the Smallfolk. She revealed her hand, far too soon. Again and again, she pulls her punches, opts for half-measures. You talk of Meereen. She crucified one hundred and sixty three nobles in response to the murder of one hundred and sixty three children. They crucified them to taunt her. How do you imagine Tywin Lannister would have reacted to such an insult? She left thousands of them alive, with their wealth intact. They nearly brought her down. At Volantis, she left thousands of the Old Blood alive. How long before they rise in revolt? She spares the women and children of her enemies. The women plot revenge, the boys grow up hating her. You think she's Maegor come again?", Tarly laughed mirthlessly "Think Ned Stark come again. A capable commander, I grant, but where did his mercy and his honour take him in the end? A one-way trip to the headsman's block."

Olenna gave a smile that would have curdled milk. "We understand each other, my lord. From now on, every town, every village of every size between here and the capital becomes a garrison. The Smallfolk are our shield against her wrath. If she attacks, we raid and harass her armies, but we do not offer a pitched battle, where she can use her dragons. To kill our men with dragonfire, she must kill the people who she wants to love her. I think she would die, rather than do so." 

"Agreed, my lady" commented Tarly. "But, there's more. If she wants an honourable war, we don't give her one. We resort to the assassin, to poisons. We reach out to those in her camp who are disaffected, We make them promises, so they turn on her. Kill her, and her host departs. We can crush the North and Dorne, or negotiate with them, when she is no more." 

"My lord, mother" cried Mace. "This is shameful. Our House cannot wage war in this manner. It would bring disgrace on the name of Tyrell, for all time!"

"One moment, my lord. I wish to speak to my son in private". Olenna drew Mace aside, out of earshot. "If I did not know better, I would wonder truly if you were my son. Do you even possess the wits the Gods gave to a turnip? What part of "dragonfire" don't you understand? Lord Rykker thought his scorpions and ballistae could defeat the Dragon Queen. Now, he and his sons are ash. You might have noticed what she did to this castle. And, what she did not do to Duskendale. House Tyrell fights to win, not to die with honour. Do you understand?" He nodded meekly. They returned to where Tarly was standing. 

"Her Grace wishes to negotiate with her. Should we respond to her offer?" asked Tarly. Lady Brienne, the daughter of the captive Lord of Tarth, had been released on parole to bring a letter from the Dragon Queen to Kings Landing. She smiled to remember the bombast: 

"We, Daenerys of House Targaryen, by the Grace of the Old Gods and the New, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men, and By the Power of Eternal Heaven, Queen of the Bay of Dragons, and Triararch of Volantis for Life, bid greeting to Lord Tommen of House Baratheon, and Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, presently styling yourselves King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You know in your hearts that you have no true claim to rule the Seven Kingdoms. Lord Tommen, your own father usurped the Iron Throne from our father, King Aerys, against all reason and faith. Were we to come against you with all my power, it would not ill become us. Yet, we delight in moderation above all things. Come pay homage, and we shall greatly reward you. Now your own upright hearts must tell you: “We will become subject to you, and will place our powers at your disposal.” You, in person, must come to tender us service and pay us homage; then only will we recognize your submission. But if you do not obey the commands of the Gods and of Heaven, and run counter to our orders, we shall know that you are our foe. That is what we have to tell you. If you fail to act in accordance therewith, then take witness the fate of Lord Rykker of Duskendale". 

"She will agree a safe conduct?" asked Tarly. 

"So, Lady Brienne assures us." 

"Then yes, my lady. Tell her we wish to come to terms, but on no account, must the King or Queen render her homage. I shall need time to garrison and fortify the towns and villages. I shall need time to prepare our counter-strikes;" 

"My grand-daughter thinks we may be able to buy her off, by restoring her family's demesne lands to her, and paying an indemnity." 

"Well, Her Grace has a kind heart, but I should be surprised if the Targaryen would mount an invasion, simply in order to be bought off. Even if her family's lands were to be restored, she would have to pledge fealty for them. You've read her letter. Does she have that in mind, would you say, my lady?" 

"Of course not, but it will do no harm for us to play for time. We shall open negotiations with her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not making it easy for Dany, Had she burned Duskendale to the ground with its inhabitants, she would have gone a lot further towards persuading Tarly and Olenna that she possesses the will to power. As it is, they have the measure of her.
> 
> On the other hand, burning civilians in order to make a point is terrible.


	11. The Mockingbird and the Lion

"Tyrion, my old friend. How it warms my heart to see you again, alive and well. What adventures you must have had, since we last met! And, now, the Hand of the true Queen! I do so enjoy seeing the wicked prosper."

Tyrion couldn't help smiling at the insincere wishes of goodwill, and the final insolence. After all, one would expect nothing else from Lord Petyr Baelish, "Littlefinger", now Lord Protector of the Vale. 

"You don't seem to be doing too badly for yourself, either." 

"I get by. I trust you will dine with me tonight. I think we both have so much to catch up on. But now, to business. Your Queen has made the first throw of the dice, successfully. She has Dorne, Tarth, Dragonstone, Driftmark, and at least half the Crownlands. I don't know of the current state of negotiations between her and the Princess Sansa, but I presume the North will support her. And, of course, she has her dragons. A good start, certainly, but not enough on its own, I'd wager. I'm aware she has no desire to be Queen of the Ashes, so she will not be reducing Kings Landing to lava (I have agents of my own among those who serve her). The power of the Vale would, I expect, be a very useful addition to her strength. Do I hit the mark?"

"Near enough". 

"My dear late Lady Wife, Lysa Arryn, made a point of keeping the Vale neutral during the recent wars. I have followed that policy. I have received numerous requests for aid from the Tyrells, and have prevaricated so far. Neutrality has served the Vale well. The lords, knights, and the smallfolk have all prospered. We took few losses when we helped the Starks destroy the Beast of Bolton. So, tell me, why should we be expected now, to take sides?" 

"All that you say is true, Petyr, but as you know, Daenerys Targaryen can draw on huge resources from the East. She would prefer to gain the Iron Throne by negotiation, but if it does come to war, she will win. To stand on the winning side can only be of benefit to the Vale." 

"In my experience, the outcome of no war is certain. Think of the Young Wolf, Robb Stark. He won battle after battle, yet in the end, fell victim to treachery. Daenerys might experience the same fate. What would her supporters have left to fight for in that case? I imagine most of them would return to the East."

"We will ensure that she learns from his mistakes. And, Lord Varys protects her. " 

"The Spider might be a double-edged sword. Still, I don't think you would have taken the trouble to come to the Vale, unless you had some proposals for me" 

"She offers her hand in marriage to your ward, Lord Arryn. He will be her King Consort. She will give you back your old position as Master of Coin, and restore Harrenhall to you, with all its lands. She will confirm you as Lord Protector of the Vale"

Daenerys and her advisors at Dragonstone had discussed at length which of the great lords she ought to marry. In the end, it had been Sansa who had proposed her cousin, Sweetrobin. That had surprised him. He might have expected her to suggest Jon Snow, but she had pointed out that the North had already pledged its support. Now the support of the Vale had to be won. A very nasty thought had briefly flashed through his mind, as he wondered whether she and Jon were intimate, as his own brother and sister had been. Once the matter had been decided, he had taken ship for Gulltown, sending word in advance that he wished to confer with Lord Baelish. The man was about as trustworthy as a pit viper, but neither side in a civil war can be too choosy. So, now he sat sipping wine with his old enemy, in the latter's waterfront manse. 

"A tempting offer. I love that lad dearly, as if he were my own son, yet I fear he is sickly. He has fits. He misses his mother. He is simple for his years. In fact, I very much fear that his days are numbered. I don't think such a marriage would endure. Might I suggest an alternative?" 

"Yourself, you mean?" Baelish roared with laughter. 

"Myself? Imagine it, the lord of sheepshit, becoming King Consort of the Seven Kingdoms, and married to the most beautiful woman in the world! But no, I prefer to wield influence, rather than to wear a crown. And besides, my heart is given to another." 

"You, in love?" Tyrion couldn't help saying. The man laughed again. 

"Come, Tyrion, you're a keen student of human nature. Even a man such as I am is capable of finer feelings at times. I have been in love with this young lady for a long time." 

"And, has she reciprocated?" 

"I have hopes. I did her a grave wrong, but I made amends. I helped her recover her ancestral home." Realisation dawned on Tyrion. 

"Princess Sansa? Well, you'd be a lucky man if she agreed to marry you. I can only wish you well. So, who are you proposing as a husband for the Queen". 

"Lord Royce of Runestone. He is a most puissant warrior. He is a widower, and has a grown son of his own. Better still, he hates the Tyrells." 

"Why so?" 

"Ser Loras slew his second son, after the murder of Renly Baratheon. He held him to blame, for some reason." 

"He's twice the Queen's age." 

"What is that to the point? The Queen needs allies. And besides, I should think he is better able to perform his conjugal duties to his wife than Lord Robyn can ever be." Lord Baelish had a point, it had to be said. 

"Have you broached this subject with Lord Royce?" 

"I have. He is agreeable, in principle. He will join us for supper. " 

Supper was pleasant enough, just the three of them. They dined on buttered crabs, game birds, and a fine rack of lamb, with neeps and spring greens, accompanied by the finest wines. Snake though he was, Lord Baelish could be amusing company when he wished. He had Tyrion roaring with laughter as he told him of the young daughter of Lord Redfort, caught in compromising circumstances with no fewer than *three* lusty stablehands. "I fear the young lads are destined for the Wall" the man concluded. "I suppose they were fortunate not to be gelded" commented Lord Royce. Royce himself was a grave, bearded, man. Hardly the sort of consort the Queen would have chosen back in Essos, but entirely suitable, he thought, as King Consort of the Seven (or was it now Six?) Kingdoms. He disclosed the arrangement that Daenerys had made with the North; she would not be Queen, but would be Protector of the Seven Kingdoms. "What's in a name?" was Royce's only comment. Eventually, he agreed to recommend his proposal of marriage to the Queen. 

Baelish accompanied Tyrion to his ship, two days later. "Remember Tyrion, Master of Coin, Harrenhall, and Lord Protector of the Vale. Those are the terms." Bugger that, he thought. What Baelish was really after was to be named Lord of the Vale, with Sansa as his bride, once Sweetrobin departed this world. He had neither forgiven nor forgotten a certain incident with a dagger, years ago, but revenge was always a dish best served cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. In a Clash of Kings, Ser Loras slew the second son of Lord Royce, believing him responsible for the murder of Renly Baratheon.
> 
> 2\. So now, the board is almost set. The Tyrells hold the Reach, the Riverlands, the West, Kings Landing, and some of the Crownlands. The Stormlands are pretty much divided. Daenerys holds the periphery.


	12. Peace Breaks Out

Steam and mist hung in the air, as they rode on from Blackhaven castle, home of the Dondarrions. The river flowed fast beside them, swollen by the unseasonal rains. Ellaria and Nymeria rode with the vanguard, a corps of Dornish knights, and Dothraki screamers, wearing their silk vests and boiled leather breastplates . A screen of scouts and outriders preceded them. Daario Naharis rode by her side, as they continued to discuss the coming campaign. They led an army of twenty thousand spears and five thousand cavalry. Twelve thousand more men were stationed along the Princes' Pass, to prevent incursions into Dorne from the Reach. Nimble mountaineers sprang from one rock to another, far above them, signalling to the army that it was safe to advance. So far, there had been little sign of the enemy, other than a handful of outriders. Tens of thousands had perished, over the centuries, in fruitless attempts to subdue Dorne. No, the enemy would let them emerge from the Boneway, but would then be waiting for them in force. The Dondarions of Blackhaven, and the Selmys of Harvest Hall, had both declared for Queen Daenerys, a valuable addition to their strength. In theory, Tommen himself was Lord of the Stormlands, and governed through Lord "Red Ronnet" Connington of Griffins Roost. In practice, the Storm lords were hopelessly divided among themselves, following the deaths of all three Baratheon brothers. That was all to the good, but the lords of the Reach were united behind the usurpers. Their resources of manpower and wealth were almost unlimited.

"Summerhall seems the obvious ground to fight us on" remarked Ellaria. "I expect we'll be facing superior numbers." 

"Numbers aren't everything your highness," commented Daario. "Our enemies have never encountered Dothraki or Unsullied. The Dothraki can hammer a dozen shafts a minute into enemy ranks, and still stay out of their grasp. As to the Unsullied, they've beaten larger armies again and again. And, your Dornish have a mighty reputation." 

"Even so, I'd be happier if the Queen had stuck to our original plan. Dorne is solid for her. We could strike at will into the Reach and Stormlands, if her army were here. Let alone, her dragons." 

"She menaces the capital now, and half the Crownlands have come over to her. It's a bold stroke, but I approve it." 

"What if she's defeated at sea?" remarked Nymeria. "She'd be completely cut off." 

"She has her dragons. They give her command of the seas." 

Ellaria didn't answer. She was still thinking about her last conversation with Varys. Was the eunuch truly planning to use Daenerys to destroy the Tyrells before turning on her, in favour of Ellaria and her daughters? Or was he merely trying to lure her into treason against the Dragon Queen? And, why would he favour her over the Queen anyway? Had she offended him in some way, or did he think to wield greater influence over the Seven Kingdoms through her family. She had no moral qualms about turning on Daenerys, any more than she had about turning on the brother of her paramour. Oh, but what if she failed? "When you aim for the King, you had better not miss" as the old saying went. The same applied to Queens, and she doubted that Daenerys would give a second chance to a traitor who struck at her and missed. Her thoughts turned to far happier matters. The fates she intended for Tommen and Margaery Tyrell. She would have the boy raped, before blinding and castrating him, and removing his tongue. Then, nail him to a cross, and parade him through Dorne on a cart. Her most skilful surgeons would see to it that he survived the ordeal for several days at least. Margaery would likewise be raped, before being scourged naked through Sunspear, and then burned alive on a pyre. Daenerys might intend to offer them mercy. She would show them just what it meant, to make an enemy of a Dornish Princess. The thought of what she would do to them both was really quite arousing. She intended to take part personally in their punishments. 

These happy thoughts were interrupted by shouting. Lord Dondarrion came riding back hard. "Enemy cavalry in the pass, your Highness. Five miles further on. " Now that was surprising. To venture into territory where the advantage lay with her forces. 

"Follow me", she commanded Daario, Nymeria, and the rest of her entourage and she spurred forward. They rode up through the outriders, for a quarter of an hour, and there, sure enough, were enemy knights, drawn up, waiting for them. She judged the force to be about five hundred strong, which struck her as odd. Far too small a number to give battle, yet, at the same time, far too large to be a scouting party. She halted, with her party, perhaps half a mile from the enemy. Then, she saw a group of horsemen slowly trot forward, bearing white flags. As they drew closer, she recognised Lord Ronnett, and saw the eunuch among them. Perhaps she was entirely wrong about the man, and he was planning to betray both Daenerys and her to the Tyrells. Fortunately, she always carried a fast-acting poison in two of the rings she wore. She would die, rather than let herself be taken captive. 

At last they met, a few yards apart. "Your Highness"; Ronnett bowed in the saddle, as he addressed her. "His Grace King Tommen, and Her Grace, Queen Daenerys, have agreed a truce. They will attempt to settle their differences peacefully, at Rosby. There is thus, no need for us to fight. We are both requested to attend the negotiations. You, Lady Nymeria, Lord Daario, and your guard of honour, are guaranteed safe conduct to Rosby. " She stared hard at Varys. 

"It is true your Highness. Each side is ready for war, but each side would prefer peace." Peace! The word sounded foul to her. Vengeance, fire and blood. That was what she needed. But, it was pointless to disobey the Queen. 

"Very well, I will come" she replied. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I have to part company with both the show and George Martin in having the Dothraki unarmored. That would just be suicidal. I've given them the silk vests and boiled leather breastplates of Mongol light cavalry. Silk does not tear easily. If the wearer is stuck by an arrow, the silk will envelop it. Pulling the silk tight will then draw out the arrow.
> 
> 2\. To be honest, I don't think Sansa could actually go through with mutilating Tommen, or torturing Margaery to death, if she really had them in her power. Rather like Catelyn, Sansa will talk tough, but could only really inflict cruelty on someone like Ramsay Bolton, who behaved vilely to her and her family. Screwtape complained that "the English are the kind of milksops who will loudly proclaim that torture is too good for their enemies, and then give a cup of tea to the first wounded German airman who comes to their door." Sansa is more ruthless than Jon, but that's still somewhat close to the way she operates in reality.
> 
> Ellaria? Well, she has her own way of doing things.........


	13. The Field of the Cloth of Gold.

Daenerys rose early and took a bath, already heated by her servants. Afterwards, she dressed with care, with the assistance of her lady in waiting, Amerei Velaryon, daughter of the Lord of Driftmark. She assisted her into a suit of black plate armour, and fastened a scarlet cloak to her shoulders. She handed her a black half-helm, surmounted a by a small gold coronet, and strapped a short-sword to her waist. She bowed before her. "Your Grace, you are dressed to kill." 

"I hope to achieve peace, Amerei." She couldn't help but notice the sceptical look on her face.

"We all hope for peace, your Grace, but, I can't but say, I don't trust the Tyrells." 

"Point taken". 

As she left her pavilion, her husband, Lord Yohn Royce was waiting for her. He was wearing armour of polished steel, with a cloak of sky blue. His helm was topped by a silver coronet. They had married in the Sept at Dragonstone a fortnight previously. She had accepted that the proposal of marriage was a sensible one, and he had travelled to the island post-haste. Pretty young men were ever her weakness, and Lord Royce could hardly be described as such. Yet, he seemed sensible, respectful, reserved, and at least competent in the bedchamber, without being too demanding. Neither of them had married for love, but perhaps they might grow to love each other.

They both mounted their chargers, and began to ride the last few miles to Rosby. In front of her rode, a vanguard of cavalry, a mix of Dothraki, under their commanders, Rakharo and Mago, and knights of the Crownlands, who had sworn themselves to her. Daario and Grey Worm rode with them. Immediately behind her rode the Princess Sansa, wearing a beautiful cloth of silver dress, embroidered with red weirwoods, Princess Ellaria, Lord Petyr Baelish, Lady Missandei, bearing the Targaryen standard, and Lady Amerei. Both princesses wore coronets of their own. They were followed by Lords Velaryon, Tarth (who had finally pledged allegiance) ,Dondarrion, Uller, Yronwood, Sunglass, Bar Emmon and Ellaria's daughters. Stretching out behind them was a concourse of knights and squires of the Vale, Dorne, and the Crownlands, bearing scores of banners of famous houses. Far back, rode Tyrion, at his own request, on a small pony. She looked back. It was a undeniably a magnificent display. She had agreed with her advisors that arriving on the back of Drogon would be overly aggressive. She wanted to show that she favoured peace, but was ready for war. Once the servants were included, she would be bringing over five thousand people to the parley. Envoys had agreed the numbers that each side would bring, including the number of fighting men. High-ranking hostages had been exchanged on both sides. Currently, Samwell, the younger son of Lord Tarly, Lady Megga Tyrell, Alekeyne Florent, Ser Marq Piper, Lady Genna Lannister, Ser Addam Marbrand, and Tytos Lannister of Lannisport, were among those residing at Dragonstone.

It was a beautiful morning, sunny but cool. Peasants working the land, and passers-by, gaped at the procession, something they had never witnessed in their lives before. They gaped even wider, at the sight of silver and gold coins being tossed in their direction. A great Queen must be munificent, as well as terrible, after all. Daenerys blinked as they finally rode onto the plain, where they had agreed to parley, a couple of miles from Rosby. As far as she could see, there were pavilions made of cloth of gold and silver, or costly damasks. Fountains had been set up pouring red or white wine (plainly, some of those present had been taking advantage of this for some hours). Hundreds of the chivalry of the Reach, the Riverlands, and the West were drawn up, waiting to receive her. She noticed that a tourney ground had been established. No doubt, knights on both sides were keen to display their prowess with lance and sword. A row of archery butts would enable the common soldiers to display their own skills. Her own outriders made way for her and Lord Royce, and the pair rode forward to a dais, where Tommen and Margaery awaited them with their immediate family. The Rose of Highgarden was dressed strikingly, in a gown of cloth of gold, and a shawl of scarlet silk. Even in the late stages of pregnancy, she looked beautiful. Tommen wore a suit of gilded armour. The pair stepped down from the dais, even as Daenerys and her husband dismounted. 

"Welcome Madam, and may the Gods speed" said Margaery. And then the four embraced, and exchanged the kiss of peace. Margaery led them a short distance to the most magnificent of the pavilions, where the four would sit in the place of honour, even as the tournament took place before them. The serious work of negotiating would begin on the morrow, but this was a time for celebration. Each side had already set out its position. The Tyrells would offer to restore the Targaryen demesne lands, amounting to millions of acres, and reimburse Daenerys' military expenditure to date. They would recognise her rule of the Stepstones, and Tarth in full sovereignty, and grant her the title of Princess. In turn, Daenerys had offered to install Tommen and Margaery as Prince and Princess of the Stormlands, and to confirm Lord Mace as Lord of the Reach. She had promised some border territories to Dorne, but would grant Tommen and Margaery Dragonstone and its dependencies and the Stepstones, by way of compensation. Each side was prepared to offer a full pardon to those who had chosen the other side. 

"The tales do not understate your beauty, your Excellency " remarked Margaery as they sat together. They had agreed to address each other as "Excellency" from the outset. 

"The Rose of Highgarden is an ornament to the Reach" she replied. They continued to exchange pleasantries, even as the knights jousted before them. Margaery's brother, Ser Garlan the Gallant, magnificent in a suit of green enamelled armour was the champion of the lists, unseating Lords Dondarrion, Uller, and Redfort, and being declared the winner on points over Ser Lyn Corbray, although neither had unseated the other. To her consternation, her husband rose, and called for his horse and lance. He and Ser Garlan rode three courses against each other, before the Marshal of the tourney declared the outcome a draw. She wondered if Ser Garlan, a much younger man, had deliberately pulled his punches. Still, her husband had been a formidable tournament fighter in his time. 

It was now early afternoon. It was time to feast. By now, changed into a dress of white silk, embroidered with the Targaryen sigil, Daenerys assisted Margaery to rise, and they walked to the banquet together, arm in arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Dany uses "terrible" in its old sense, meaning formidable.


	14. The Dance of the Burning Men

"I owe you an apology, Sansa" said Margaery, looking sheepish. It was the third evening of the parley, and Daenerys was hosting a reception and banquet for the dignitaries, in her pavilion. Although Margaery spent most of the time seated, she had made a point of rising and seeking out Sansa. 

Sansa glared at her. "You certainly do. Other than that, I have nothing to say to you."

"We used you. That was wrong, but necessary. Joffrey was a monster. The amethyst in your hairnet was the ideal means of smuggling in the poison. Lord Baelish promised us that he would ensure your escape. And, he did. I would never have thrown you to the wolves."

"And if he had failed, what then? Would you have confessed the truth to Cersei? Would you have looked on as she made me beg for the Stranger's kiss? Or perhaps, shed a tear as you watched what was left of me being chained to a stake and burned? I certainly wouldn't have got off with just a beheading, if she'd caught me. "

Margaery looked uncomfortable. "I would have done everything in my power to ensure that you escaped." 

"I'd like to believe that, Margaery, truly I would. But, I don't. Joffrey was a monster, yes. The world is a better place without him. But, if you wanted to use me, why, in the Gods' name could you not involve me in your plans? I daresay I'd have agreed to smuggle in the poison. But, you wanted to frame me, and Tyrion. Have you apologised to him?" 

"I've tried to. He reacted in much the same way as you. I would hope we could be friends again. You've forgiven Lord Baelish. Can you not forgive me?" 

"Who says I've forgiven him?"

"Are you not about to be betrothed?" 

"Who told you such a thing?"

"Perhaps, I'm misinformed." 

In truth, she did need to marry soon. The North would need allies, and her hand would be a great prize. She had no wish ever to lie with a man again, after her experiences with the Beast, but such concerns mattered less than the fate of her people. She knew full well what Petyr felt for her, and perhaps she should just yield to his advances. He was a powerful and subtle man, after all. She excused herself from Margaery. Was the woman sincere? The fact was, you could trust no one except your own family....except perhaps Daenerys. The woman was an open book, and that worried her. She feared the Dragon Queen had little idea what kind of snakepit she had jumped into. Sansa felt uneasy here. The fake smiles, the false compliments, the sly glances that were exchanged around her, nothing was what it seemed. She saw Princess Ellaria and Lord Varys, deep in conversation with Lord Tarly, and that had to be suspicious. She accepted another goblet of wine, and remained a prey to her thoughts.

The Kingslayer hated these gatherings. Almost as much as he hated himself. He had shit for honour, he knew. He hated himself for the things he had done, and for the things he would do. How had he found himself serving a family who had murdered his own sister, his lover? He had made no attempt to conceal his scorn for the lies they told him, when he returned from the Riverlands. Oh, no doubt Cersei had murdered the people at the Great Sept, that was in her nature. But, murdering Joffrey, sacrificing infants, plotting to murder Tommen? Those were filthy lies. He could only imagine what threats they had made to his sister, to make her confess to such things! And yet, what choice did he have? His remaining child was the King, married to one of these snakes. He had to secure his son's crown; a very hollow crown. probably.

"Brother." 

He turned to see Tyrion facing him, the meeting he had dreaded for so long. 

"You murdered our father. You murdered my son." 

"To the first, I plead guilty. He planned to execute me, and for a crime I never committed. As to Joffrey, I loathed the boy, I confess, but I never poisoned him. I lied to you out of spite. Do you really think I'd have committed murder in the full view of hundreds? I'm many things, brother, but do you truly think I'm stupid?" 

Tyrion had confessed to the boy's murder, but in truth, Jaime had always had his doubts. "Ask yourself, who benefits from committing a crime, and there's your criminal" his father had often advised. Who benefitted from Joffrey's murder? The very family who controlled the Iron Throne. He could see Tyrion guessed his thoughts. 

The dwarf nodded. "The very family who murdered our sister. And yet, you continue to serve them. Do you think it makes Tommen happy to be king? Would it be so terrible if he ruled the Stormlands and Dragonstone alongside his beautiful wife?"

"I fear that Tommen has no choice in the matter. And so, I must continue to serve that family loyally. How are the negotiations?" 

"They proceed slowly. You may not believe it, but my Queen is quite sincere in wishing to avoid bloodshed. And, strange as it may seem, I think Margaery Tyrell is, as well. But, wishes are not fishes, I'm afraid."

"Tell me of your time in Essos" asked Jaime. And, Tyrion gave him an account of his adventures. 

"I like that queen, in spite of everything" thought Margaery, as she waddled over towards Daenerys. They had known each other for just three days, but already she found herself falling under the woman's spell. Such a shame they should be enemies, but perhaps peace was possible. "Your excellency, might I speak in confidence? " Daenerys nodded, and they they walked out of the pavilion, into the dusk, followed discreetly by bodyguards. "May we sit? I can't stand for long at the moment. " They both sat down on the grass. Margaery questioned her about her rule in the East, before asking: 

"Why do you want to rule the Seven Kingdoms. Surely, your task in the East will last a lifetime?" Daenerys paused, and she could see her debating inwardly. Eventually, she answered. 

"It's necessary. You may think this is the raving of a madwoman, but you can ask the Princess Sansa or Lord Tyrion. The world is in deadly danger, from the North. From beyond the Wall. The demons of ice, the Others, are waking. One day, they will breach the Wall. If I'm not able to fight them, the world ends." 

"The Others? A child's fantasy. Grumpkins and Snarks". 

"If only. Sansa's brother, Jon Snow, has seen them. Or rather, he has seen a pale shadow of them. Even he does not realise quite what peril we face.

"I'm not on the best of terms with Sansa." 

"But, I think you would agree, she is not a fool." 

"No, she isn't." Inspiration struck her. "If what you say is true, why do you need to be Queen? I understand you do not wish to be Queen of the North, but would rather be called Protector of the Seven Kingdoms. Why not let Tommen remain King, while you lead the Seven Kingdoms in the war you think is coming?" 

"Could it work? Surely, the duty of a monarch is to lead the country in war. Would your family even tolerate such an agreement? Would my followers tolerate it?" 

"We could ask." Daenerys helped her to rise, and they both returned to the pavilion, for supper.

Daenerys felt at ease with Margaery. She sat at the head of one table with her, while her husband sat at the head of the next, with Tommen. Hers was an intriguing suggestion, and she turned it over in her mind, even while making small talk. She would need to talk it over with Tyrion, Missandei, Sansa, and Varys. One course after another was served, but she ate sparingly, and merely sipped at her wine. Margaery, she noticed, drank only small ale, no doubt on her physicians' advice. The entertainments began. Jugglers, poets, singers, all performing in the hope of rich reward. Margaery excused herself, saying she needed to retire to bed early, on account of her condition. Eventually, a troop of mummers entered, chained together, and covered from head to foot in shaggy brown cloth, in strips, coated in pine resin. Woodwoses they were called. They capered and danced, and sang the most obscene songs, setting the audience in a roar, apart from Sansa, who she saw blushing furiously. At last, they lined up in a row to bow before her, and she rose to reward them. 

Ser Garlan Tyrell stepped forward, bearing a torch, which he deliberately put to the dancer closest to him. With a whoosh! the man's costume burst into flame, even as he screamed in agony, instantly becoming a living torch. The other dancers screamed as they caught fire in turn, beating at themselves in a desperate attempt to put out the fire. Daenerys rose, horrified, furious, picking up a jug of ale which she hurled at the first dancer in a futile attempt to staunch the flames. "Water" she screamed, even as the hangings of the pavilion caught fire. Everywhere diners were scrambling to their feet, fighting to get out, shouting, cursing, and shrieking. She saw Ser Garlan leaning over to slit the throat of her husband with a dirk, and drew her own dagger, lunging for him. Grey Worm leapt forward, pushing her aside, grasping the traitor with his bare hands. Ser Garlan drove his dagger to the hilt into her commander's chest, but the man still pulled him down beneath him, trying to strangle him with his last strength. She saw Tommen standing still, with a look of complete horror on his face, even as Mace Tyrell grabbed his arm, dragging him towards the entrance. Tyrion had Sansa by the hand, also racing for the entrance. Ellaria and Varys had already left. Amerei Velaryon was screaming, as the flames took hold of her dress. Missandei, oh Gods, Missandei, where was she? Daenerys didn't know whether to fight or flee, and turned to find herself facing Ser Jaime Lannister. The Kingslayer delivered a hard punch to her face which sent her reeling to the ground. The last thing she remembered was the roar of the flames, as they took hold. Then, nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Woodwose is an old term for wild man of the woods.
> 
> 2\. Le Bal des Ardents, on which this chapter is based, is vividly described by Barbara Tuchman in A Distant Mirror. The king of France and various noblemen dressed up as woodwoses, and a guest put a torch to one of them. It's not known if this was a deliberate murder attempt or a bit of horseplay that went terribly wrong. It forms the basis of Edgar Allen Poe's story, Hop Frog.
> 
> The relevant scene is incorporated into the film The Masque of the Red Death, here.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t1lAGt31dh8


	15. No One

She loved her brother and sister. Theirs had been an emotional reunion at Winterfell. Sansa had grinned as she told them what she had done at The Twins, yet Jon had seemed rather shocked. Still, he accepted it. Nobody could dispute that the male adults of House Frey deserved death. She had taken care to spare the women and children. 

But, there was nothing for her to do at the castle. Jon spoke of the White Walkers and the Dead, but the Wall held firm. The Free Folk were rescued. Life was boring. Eventually, she begged leave to follow her sister South, to keep her safe. She did not trust this Dragon Queen. Her father had burned their grandfather and uncle Brandon, after all. She took ship from White Harbour, to Gulltown, then on to Crab Island, and finally to Dragonstone. She found work as a washerwoman, a breed always in demand when an army was marching. She could have gone to her sister, but she preferred to lie low, find out what people thought of Daenerys Targaryen. And, mostly, what she heard was good. Yes, she had a ruthless side, as any ruler must, but she cared for her people. Her soldiers were well paid, on the nail. Her servants and the Smallfolk spoke well of her. In some ways, she reminded her of her mother Lady Catelyn. She could be hard, but she was always kind toward those of lesser degree.

She followed them as they marched towards Rosby, always intending to meet her sister, but somehow, never getting round to it. Well, washerwomen could not easily approach Princesses. Still, she observed her from afar. Her beautiful, accomplished sister, hurt, but not broken by the actions of the Beast of Bolton. She saw the Dragon Queen from afar too; the woman's beauty took her breath away. Silver haired, purple-eyed, looks that seemed almost unearthly. The talk in the army was all of peace. Both sides were surely angling for a settlement. Peace? Well, this was Westeros. Men (and women, sometimes) preferred violence. Thousands of the Smallfolk had arrived at the parley, to take advantage of the meat, ale, and wine on offer, and to watch the knights in the lists. The mood was jolly, as one might expect. Most of the Smallfolk were drunk, most of the time. On the third day, she had heard of the reception and banquet that would be hosted by the Dragon Queen. There was obviously no way she could attend, but she saw from afar, the glittering array of dignitaries entering and leaving the pavilion. Well, it was time to sleep. The evening was warm, and she lay down, wrapped in a blanket, her slim sword in its sheath by her side. Only to be woken by the sound of screaming, as the Seven hells broke loose.

Margaery was shaken awake in her pavilion by a maid servant. "Your Grace, come quickly." She hurriedly put a coat on, over her shift, and stepped outside, still barefoot. To her horror, the Queen's pavilion was ablaze, people still running out from it. Everywhere, people were shouting, cursing, shrieking, and she heard the ring of steel, too. She walked as fast as she could towards, the scene, only to be met by her grandmother and a guard, dragging Tommen between them. 

"What is this?" she screamed. 

"I'm winning your war for you" Olenna replied, and realisation dawned. 

"You've murdered her!" 

"It was necessary. Without her and her husband, there's nothing left for her people to fight for!" 

"You evil bitch! We were this close to achieving peace, she and I", she yelled, holding her thumb and forefinger close together. 

Even in the darkness, she saw her grandmother go pale, reacting as if she had struck her.

"I know your father is a fool. I expected better from you, Margaery!" There was a clatter as a carriage pulled up, surrounded by a group of horsemen. "Ride hard for the capital" commanded Olenna. Olenna climbed in, and the guards roughly pushed Tommen and Margaery in, after her. The carriage set off rapidly. Reaction set in fast, and Margaery held her head in her hands, crying. Tommen was silent, seemingly in a state of shock. Eventually, her grandmother spoke "You'll both thank me for this one day; when you rule the Seven Kingdoms and no one dares challenge you."

Daenerys regained consciousness in the midst of smoke and flame. She coughed and choked. She saw that her dress had burned away, leaving her quite naked. She touched her head, feeling nothing but frizzled strands in place of her hair. But, the fire could not harm her. She crawled through the flames, and found the walls of the pavilion had mostly been burned away. Rising with difficulty, she staggered into the darkness. Everywhere, there was the sound of fighting. She looked around to see hundreds of men, duelling, grappling, gouging, a nightmare vision. What to do she wondered? She felt a wave a nausea, and bent down to be sick. At length, she rose again. And halted. There before her, stood the Kingslayer, sword in hand, a look of acute misery on his face. 

He loathed himself. He was damned, he knew. Yet, what choice did he have? He had to protect his son. Tommen was a good lad, but so weak. That meant he, and others had to save him from himself. But, that didn't absolve him. He knew what he was. Murderer, betrayer, Kingslayer, and now Queenslayer. He laughed, hysterically, thinking how ironic it was that he should first betray the father, and now his daughter. He'd betrayed the whole family, really. The blood of Princess Elia and her children was on his hands too. He had recovered his sword from the entrance to the pavilion, where he had left it, and walked out into the darkness, away from the inferno. Away from the fighting he heard all around him. Perhaps he should just fall on his sword, now that his work was done. The Tyrells would use him again and again until they had no more use for him. Better he die now, than commit more crimes in their service. And then he saw her. She had actually survived the blaze, a miracle. Targaryens had died by fire, yet seemingly she was unburnt. She was on her knees retching. When she was finished, she looked up, and met his eyes. "Don't struggle, and I'll make it quick for you" he commanded. 

"Leave her, Kingslayer " he heard a voice in the darkness, young, feminine, firm. 

He turned to see who it was. A small young woman, holding a slim blade in her right hand. His own sword would split it in two. 

"Who are you?" he asked. 

"No one." 

"Go, or I'll cut you in half" 

He could see her face, in the light cast by the fire. She smiled, chilling, feral, wolf-like, before she glided forward on the balls of her feet. 

"I think a man knows that this is his last fight" came her reply.


	16. The Queen's Justice

Jaime stepped forward, to meet his assailant, aiming a savage sweep that would have disembowelled her, had she not glided back, just out of reach. Using all his skill, he hacked and thrust, missing by her a fraction again, and again. Was she toying with him?

"Try again, a girl is waiting." He aimed a savage swing at her head, which she ducked, by a hair's breadth. 

"A man is predictable" she commented. "A man misses his right hand."

She darted under his blade, driving hers far into the shoulder of his right arm, before gliding back. He snarled in pain. There was something so unsettling about the way she danced, always just out of reach. Then she cut right and left, at this face. He only just got his blade up in time, to deflect the blows. Driving forward, at last, he landed a cut on her sword arm, causing her to hiss with pain. She fell back as he followed, and then she tripped, falling on one knee. He had her at last, and prepared to thrust down, only to realise too late that it was just a feint, as she drove her blade upwards, under his guard and deep into his groin. He shrieked, dropping his sword, and clutching at his balls, in a futile effort to end the infernal pain. He fell to his knees, staring up at his death. 

"Let him linger" he heard Daenerys' voice. 

The fighter paid no heed, taking careful aim. " A man is weary of life. A girl will grant him the gift of Death," he heard her say. The last thing he ever saw was her slim blade, a flash of silver, just before it entered his left eye.

Arya stepped back as Ser Jaime slumped before her, quite dead. She turned back to the Queen, who stared at her with astonishment. 

"May I know who my guardian angel is?" she asked. 

"Arya Stark of Winterfell, and you're not out of danger" she replied, taking Daenerys by the hand. It was true. Several of the pavilions were ablaze, illuminating the night scene. Fighting raged across the field, but it was hard to tell friend from foe, let alone who was winning. 

"Thank the Gods, your Grace is safe." She turned to see Lord Baelish, smiling smoothly at her. He whipped off the cloak he wore, and draped it around her shoulders. She fastened it around her throat. To Arya, she looked as if she was in a daze, disorientated. "To my pavilion, Your Grace" said Baelish. "I assure you, it is well-guarded." He took the Queen by the hand, and led her away briskly, as Arya followed. When they reached the pavilion, around two score knights and squires of the Vale were gathered. "Guard the Queen" commanded Littlefinger. "Your Grace, I must return to the fray" he informed them. Arya led Daenerys in, noticing that she was shaking, in reaction to what she had been through. 

"Get her Grace brandy" Arya commanded. A squire handed her his hip-flask, and the Queen downed the contents in one.

A healer came forward to examine the pair of them. He gently helped the Queen to a settee, and then checked Arya's wound. It was not severe, but still he cleaned it, treated it with turmeric, and then bandaged it. She heard the sound of hoofbeats outside, and the cry of "Rosby, Rosby and the Queen" as well as the noise of steel ringing on steel. She wanted to see what was happening, but Daenerys urged her to stay. She held the Queen in her arms, as the woman gradually drifted into sleep.

They both woke with a start. "You have my very great thanks" remarked Daenerys. "Name your reward, and I shall give it you." Someone had draped a blanket over them, as they rested. She heard the chatter of birds, and realised that it was Dawn. They rose, and went to see what was happening. As far as Arya could see, the fighting was at an end. She heard men groaning, and crying, presumably wounded. Smoke drifted up through the air, and the field resembled a butcher's shambles, with bodies everywhere. Waiting for them was Lord Varys, inscrutable as always. With him were Tyrion, Lord Baelish, and other men she did not recognise. Then she spotted her sister among the throng. Sansa gave a cry, and rushed forward to hug her. They both turned as the eunuch addressed the Queen. 

"Your Grace, I failed you. I feared treachery, and warned Lord Rosby to keep his men ready to ride to the rescue, and we have gained the field. But, I did not anticipate quite how ruthless Ser Garlan would be. I regret to say, he escaped. If you deem my life forfeit for my mistake, that is no more than justice. But, before reaching judgement, allow me to present a gift to you." Two soldiers brought forward a bruised and battered man, of late middle age. "Lord Randyll Tarly" announced Varys. Arya saw him fall to his knees before Daenerys. 

"Your Grace. Spare my life, and I shall name every traitor in your ranks. Starting with that one!" he aimed a venomous glance at the eunuch. 

"Pathetic, isn't it? Yet, I suppose a drowning man will clutch at a serpent, at the end" replied Varys smoothly. 

Sansa stepped forward. "You were deep in conversation with him, before the banquet, Lord Varys. What did you discuss?" 

"Treason and regicide" the man replied. "He tried to suborn me, and the Princess Ellaria. We both led him to believe we might be turned. We sought information from him." 

"That is a lie your Grace. They are traitors to you." 

Arya saw Daenerys give the man a long hard stare. She looked long and hard at Varys, and at an attractive middle-aged Dornishwoman who had joined them, and who she guessed must be Ellaria. The Queen glanced up at an oak tree which grew nearby, which had several sturdy branches. 

"Daario". A flamboyant man with a beard dyed blue stepped forward. She spoke in a flat monotone. "Please take Lord Tarly, and hang him by his heels from that tree. Then I want him sawn in half, lengthways."

"This is unjust!" screamed Tarly. Daenerys leaned over him, and then, very carefully, spat in his face. 

"There are others" said Varys. They walked over to a group of five men, under guard, kneeling on the ground. "Lord Alester Florent, Leo Tyrell, Baelon Hightower, Alyn Ambrose, Horas Redwyne", he said. 

"He's a pretty one" remarked Daenerys, gently stroking the face of Leo Tyrell, who flinched under her touch. " I want you to remove his face" she remarked to Varys. "If he survives, turn him loose. As to the others, impale them". 

Arya saw her start. "Where is the Lady Missandei?" she suddenly cried. Tyrion stepped forward. "Your Grace, she lives, but.......she was badly burned. Lord Rosby's own Maester tends to her in that pavilion" , he pointed it out. "Then I must see her immediately" said Daenerys, plainly desperate, walking in that direction. "See to the executions" she called over her shoulder, as she went.

Soldiers dragged Tarly over to the oak tree, as he raved, cursed, and struggled. Daario dealt him a hard blow to the back of the head, sending him sprawling. A pair of Unsullied deftly tied his hands behind his back, and then each of his heels to separate ropes, which were flung over the lowest branch. Each one hauled on a rope, and tied it to a root, leaving him dangling, head down, a couple of feet above the ground. Two Dothraki, grinning like satyrs, stepped forward, carrying a long saw, of the type used to cut through tree trunks, while the Unsullied held him in place. Standing on either side of the man, and starting at his crotch, the Dothraki set to their grim task. The work was arduous, and long, and Tarly shrieked and writhed, as they slowly, but surely, sliced through his body, severing muscle, bone and sinew. He choked and spluttered as yards of gut spilled from his body and into his face. As they reached his chest, the pair of them sweating hard, and spattered with gore, his struggles finally ceased. They continued to work manfully, and eventually, they broke the man into two halves, which swung apart, tangles of intestine falling out of the corpse. The ground below him was drenched with blood. The crowd gave them a round of applause, Daario rewarding each man with a gold coin apiece. 

"Well" Arya thought. "I'd never get on her wrong side."


	17. The Queen's Coronation

A month later, Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name, was crowned in the Great Hall of Dragonstone. Sansa watched, fascinated, as the dignitaries gathered. Her thoughts turned back to the the Dance of the Burning Men, as it was being called, and its aftermath. Lord Royce, Grey Worm, Lady Velaryon, Obara Sand and dozens more had perished . Lady Missandei had survived, but was only slowly recovering from her injuries, and was too unwell to attend today. She had borne witness as the bodies of Lord Tarly and the other miscreants had been taken down and fed to hungry swine. The Queen had insisted on displaying the remains to Septons, Septas, Maesters, and merchants, so they might spread word throughout the Seven Kingdoms of the fate that awaited traitors. Naturally enough, the Tyrells were claiming to the world that Daenerys had treacherously attacked them and their people, under guise of negotiation. No doubt, their surviving followers would believe what they wanted to believe. Initially, Daenerys had intended to execute the hostages, but Tyrion had suggested that they might be persuaded to switch sides. There was good sense in that. She remembered the sight of Megga Tyrell's face lighting up at the prospect of being granted Highgarden, in place of her cousins, even with most of its lands confiscated. In the end, only Alekeyne Florent and Samwell Tarly had refused to pledge allegiance, after learning of their respective fathers' fates. They had both been granted the mercy of a swift beheading.

She had been present at Joffrey's coronation, but this was an altogether more splendid affair. She took her place with Princess Ellaria, Queen Yara, Prince Theon, and her sister, each dressed in cloth of silver, and wearing a coronet. She couldn't help grinning as she recalled Arya's disgust at having to dress as royalty. She liked the sound of "Princess Sansa" very well, but Arya would never think of herself as a royal princess, despite their brother being a king. They stood in front of the throne, with their backs to it, while to either side were the lords and representatives of Great Houses, dressed in brocaded silk. Some of them had come into their inheritances far more swiftly than they anticipated. Naturally, that bound them the more closely to the Queen. Musicians struck up their tunes, and the choir sang the first of the coronation anthems, as the Queen slowly entered. She was dressed in cloth of gold, her head bare . She would not wear a wig. Let the world know that she was the Unburnt.

"Let thy hand be strenghtened, and thy right hand be exalted. 

Let justice and judgment be the preparation of thy seat! 

Let mercy and truth go before thy face! 

Alleluja!" 

sang the choir as Daenerys slowly approached. Eventually, she stood before the throne, and turned to face the crowd. The musicians fell silent as Septon Hallayne approached the Queen. One of the Most Devout who had come over to her side, she had named him as High Septon, a rival to the one in Kings Landing. He handed her a copy of the Seven Pointed Star, and administered the coronation oath.

"Will You solemnly promise and swear to govern the People of the Realm according to the Laws and Customs of the same? " he intoned. 

"I solemnly Promise so to do" she replied. 

"Will you, to the utmost of your power, cause Law and Justice in Mercy to be executed in all Your Judgements" 

"I will." 

"Will you, to the utmost of your power, maintain the Laws of the Gods, and the true profession of the Faith, Established by Law? " 

"All this I promise to do. The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep, so help me the Gods". 

"You will seal these promises with your lips seven times, on this most holy book." She then kissed the book, seven times. Hallayne took it from her hands, before handing it to an attendant. 

"I now proclaim Daenerys of House Targaryen, by the Grace of the Seven, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms. May the Queen live forever!" 

"May the Queen live forever!" roared the crowd. Gently, Hallayne led Daenerys to the throne, and bowed as she took her seat. He anointed her head, seven times, with holy oil. Then, he took the Queen's crown from an attendant, and bowed again as he placed it on her head. It was Sansa knew, her mother Rhaella's crown, re-purchased at great expense from the merchant prince who her brother, Viserys, had sold it to. It meant a great deal to Daenerys. He placed into her hands, the orb and sceptre of royalty. The choir sung the second anthem: 

"The Queen shall rejoice in thy strength, O Father. 

Exceeding glad shall she be of thy salvation. 

Glory and great worship hast thou laid upon her. 

Thou hast provided her with the blessings of goodness 

and hast set a crown of pure gold upon her head. 

Allelujah" 

Sansa laughed inwardly as she thought of her brother's coronation at Winterfell. Basically, a bunch of hairy brutes acclaiming "King in the North". She would have to bring civilisation North of the Neck if she could. 

The chamber fell silent, as Hallayne mounted the pulpit, to preach the sermon. 

He opened the Seven Pointed Star at the relevant passage. "My Head, My Head Acheth! " he intoned. "When the head of a kingdom becometh sick and diseased, it must of necessity be taken off, without useless attempts to administer any other remedy." He then went on to denounce, furiously, the record of Robert the Usurper and his brood. He made some good points, she thought, but it was surely a bit much to describe Tommen as a "tyrant, a heretic, and a sodomite". She had no doubt that the poor boy was a virtual prisoner of the Tyrells, although she doubted if that would save him from the Queen's wrath. Still, the sermon was warmly applauded by the congregation. He concluded by thanking the Seven for restoring House Targaryen to power through Daenerys. 

At last the Queen rose, and she processed out of the Hall behind her, as the choir sang the final anthem "May the Queen Live Forever". A great feast had been prepared, at which the Queen would outline her plans for the future. As Sansa emerged from the Hall, she heard the bells of the Sept ring out in celebration, while the Queen's dragons trumpeted for joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The first two Coronation Anthems are based upon those by Handel. The third was sung at the coronation of Napoleon and Josephine in 1804.
> 
> 2\. "My head, my head acheth" 2 Kings 4, v 19, was the basis of the sermon delivered by Adam Orleton, Bishop of Hereford, at which he urged the deposition of Edward II in favour of his son.
> 
> 3\. As per chapter 3, the term "sodomite" does not necessarily imply someone who is homosexual (an anachronistic term in a medieval setting in any case). "Sodomy" is used to describe any form of sexual activity which is non-procreative. It's just a bit of mud that's being flung.
> 
> 4\. It may seem Daenerys is dithering, here. But the propagandist effect of this coronation is important. In the eyes of many, she is now an anointed Queen, and to fight her is treason. Many of the Great Houses of Dorne and the Vale have sent younger family members to the coronation, their heads preferring to remain with the Dornish army, or to muster troops in the Vale.


	18. The Calm Before the Storm

At the time of Daenery's coronation, Margaery was screaming in the birthing chamber. It struck her, in a lucid moment, that before long, she'd be screaming on one of Daenerys' pyres or crosses, so she had best get used to it. A hard birth, it had taken the best part of a day and a half, and she had finally passed out. But, thank the Gods, when the Maester presented the child, she had Tommen's blonde hair and green eyes! Better still, she was a girl. A boy would surely be doomed, but maybe Daenerys would allow a girl to live, perhaps send her to a Motherhouse, to be raised as a septa. The fierce love and pride she felt, as she suckled her daughter for the first time was like nothing she had ever experienced. She would willingly give up her life to save this girl. Tommen entered the room, smiling for the first time, since that awful night. Gods, she suddenly realised she'd give up her life for that boy, too. She'd used him, she knew, just as her family were now using the pair of them. Yet, she loved him dearly. 

"How does it feel to be a father?", she asked, as he took the child in his arms.

"I think it's the happiest moment of my life" he replied. But, then, his face fell. "I've had so little happiness in my life." 

"Partly due to me," she thought, feeling a sudden stab of guilt. She felt worse as Tommen added "This girl, and you, have been the only good things in my life." He handed his daughter back to her. "What shall we call her?" he asked. 

"I've been thinking of that. Joanna. After your grandmother. Everyone who knew her said she was a kind and gracious woman."

"Not Olenna?" asked Tommen wryly. 

"Definitely not Olenna." Relations with her grandmother were very strained. She'd always known she was a tough woman, but she had displayed an appalling lack of faith at the parley. And placed Tommen, herself, and their child in deadly danger. Her grandmother simply felt regret that Daenerys had not been killed, rather than any remorse for her actions. No doubt, she was planning fresh methods of assassination. 

"How do we ensure Joanna's survival?" asked her husband. "I doubt if I'll be around to see my sixteenth birthday." He had matured very rapidly in recent weeks. 

"Never say that, Tommen. But......there are always means of fostering a child. As for us, ..........if the worst befalls, there's always sweetsleep or wolfsbane. I'll get a supply. If needs be, THAT is our escape route. " 

"Far better that than the fate of Lord Tarly" he remarked, with a grimace. "But, I think I'll be expected to die at the head of my army." 

"The awful thing is, I can hardly blame her. It wasn't just a crime, it was rank stupidity. And now, it doesn't matter that you and I are innocent. She'll hold us to blame with everyone else."

"She will. If I thought surrender was an option, I'd take it. But, it isn't. We'll just have to go down with the ship." In a few moments, joy at the birth of their child had shifted back to depression, at the thought of what lay ahead of them both.

A short while after the coronation banquet, Daenerys' own mood shifted from elation to concern. She entered Missandei's bedchamber, and disrobed, putting on just a shift. Her best friend's bandages had been finally removed a few days' previously, but she remained badly scarred, her hair burned. It had been agony to have to tell her of the fate of Grey Worm. Most nights she slept with her, and for much of the day, she sat beside her, holding her hand and comforting her. No doubt, scurrilous tales were being told about what took place between them, but she didn't care. She loved her friend, probably more than anyone else in the world; not romantically, but like a younger sister. The murder of her husband had hit her hard, but she had barely got to know the man. Missandei, she had rescued from bondage, years previously, and had grown to admire for her intelligence and compassion. She slipped under the covers with her, as she stirred and greeted her. Then, Missandei startled her by saying, "The people of this country. Can you promise me you won't hold them to blame for what their leaders did? I'll never forgive the Tyrells, but the Smallfolk can't help who rule them. I know you can be severe to your enemies. I don't condemn that. But, you've never taken revenge on the commons, for the deeds of the highborn".

She thought about that, a long while. Inevitably, Yara Greyjoy, Ellaria Sand, Daario, Lord Baelish, and the son of Lord Royce, had urged her to unleash dragonfire on everything that moved, between here and Kings Landing. Sansa and Tyrion had been less brutal, but merely commented that making omelettes required the breaking of a few eggs. At length she replied, 

"I can't guarantee that the Smallfolk won't die in the fighting. They'll die when we take towns and cities. They'll starve when their crops are destroyed. And, when my soldiers take a stronghold by storm, you know just how hard it is to restrain them. I won't slaughter them wilfully, though. Any men who murder or rape on the march will be severely punished for it, and I'll make these orders clear to my commanders." 

She heard Missandei give a little sigh of relief. "You're a good person, Daenerys. At Astapor, most people would have just shrugged and moved on. You took your life in your hands to save thousands." 

"Thousands died, when the slavers retook the city. I should have been there to save them." 

"You agonise over the people who you can't save, but you never think of the people you have saved. There aren't many people like that who hold power."

Was that true? There were times when the temptation to unleash horrors gnawed at her. She remembered how close she had come to burning the people of Duskendale. The deaths she inflicted at Rosby had been cruel indeed, but those were men who had murdered people under truce. As an act of grace, she had allowed Tyrion to bury his brother, rather than have his body fed to pigs. She felt no remorse about them, but her friend was right. She couldn't slaughter her own subjects, because their leaders were traitors. As for those leaders, they would face a reckoning indeed. On that thought, she gradually drifted into sleep.


	19. The Storm Gathers

"Theon? Huh, I'd cut his cock off, if he had one. I'll just drown him. As for Yara? Well, I'd strip her and whip her. Mate her to my dogs, or perhaps, a pig, or a lizard lion."

"Can you mate a woman to a lizard lion?" asked Dagmar Codd.

"Well, you can try, at least, " replied Euron Crows-Eye. "Then, I'd pull her guts out, through her arse, and send them to the Dragon Queen in a fancy box." His eyes shone with glee at the prospect.

Victarion Greyjoy was no stranger to violence and killing, himself, but even he found his brother's cruelty hard to stomach. The man positively revelled in torture and rape. He kept prisoners in the hold of his ship, The Silence, who would be lashed to the prows of their ships, immediately before battle. Their tongues were removed beforehand. But, cruel as he was, he was undoubtedly clever. For months, now, the Ironborn had been holed up in creeks and inlets at the mouth of the Wendwater, along with the squadron of the Royal Fleet, from Kings Landing. The dense forest of the Kingswood protected them from being seen from the air. The men had been provided with whores and drink to keep them content. As for those who did step out of line, well, they went into the hold of The Silence. But, word had reached them, from spies disguised as fishermen, that Yara and the Velaryons were sailing up the Blackwater Bay, towards Kings Landing, even as the Dragon Queen's army marched along the Northern coast.

"I worry about her dragons. They can burn our ships to kindling." 

"They could" replied Euron. "But if she has dragons, the Royal Fleet has wildfire. And, before we sail, I'll sacrifice to my gods for bad weather. Dragonfire is much less effective in rain." Victarion guessed the nature of the sacrifices that his brother would be performing. The pair of them were drinking mead with their chief captains, in Euron's pavilion. 

Victarion was ready to sail at Dawn. There was a keen wind at their backs, and the sky was full of dark clouds. Horrid shrieks and cries, coming out of the woods during the course of the night, indicated that Euron had performed the necessary rites. A discarded lover of his brother's, Falia Flowers, was lashed to the prow of Victarion's ship, the Iron Victory. He glided slowly downriver for the best part of an hour before they reached the open sea. Victarion touched his axe for luck and uttered a final prayer to the Drowned God, to bring them victory , or failing that, a good death. Cheering rang out across the fleet, as one by one, the ships emerged from the mouth of the river into Blackwater Bay.

Yara Greyjoy was standing next to the ballista, in the bows of her flagship, The Black Wind, as dawn broke, unaware that her uncles had set sail, seventy miles to the South East. Her fleet was sailing in a long line, past Duskendale, South West towards Kings Landing. The wind was against her, and it was starting to rain, but the oarsmen were experienced, and surged through the water to the beat of the timekeepers' drums. Daenerys had flown a long way out of sight on Drogon, scouting for the enemy. The spray of rain and seawater spattered her face, but she was used to it. Before leaving Dragonstone, it was agreed she and the Velaryons would closely blockade Kings Landing. Daenerys's army would march through the Crownlands under Daario's command, while the army of the Vale would make for Harrenhall, and then march on the capital. Ellaria and her daughters had left for Dorne, and Sansa and Lord Baelish for the Vale. She grinned with pleasure. There was no joy to compare with captaining a ship in war. 

A few yards away from the Pirate Queen, Arya hauled on a rope's end for dear life. She had named her reward to the Queen, for saving her life. She wanted a ship and a crew to go exploring. As luck would have it, Yara Greyjoy had been present, and had laughed in her face. "And what do you know about captaining a ship?", she had asked. Not a lot, she had to admit. Yara had then made a suggestion. Let Arya sail with her for two years, learn the sailor's craft, and how to navigate, and then she'd get her ship, if, and only if, Yara judged her to be competent. So, here she was, doing all the work of a ship's boy; cleaning the heads and scrubbing the decks, hauling tar and ballast and making up the numbers for any task that needed doing. But, that wasn't the end of it. She had to perform weapons drill with the fighting men, and then she spent an hour each evening with Yara, being taught the principles of navigation. They'd spent a week in dock, at Dragonstone, before setting sail, two days ago. It was exhausting but fascinating. One of the Ironborn had tried to use her, the previous day, in the manner ship's boys were accustomed to, only to find Needle being pointed at his crotch. She'd mentioned it in passing to Yara, and sadly, the man had fallen overboard in the night. Nobody much cared for him, it seemed. Such accidents are common at sea.

Daenerys cursed as the rain drove into her face, and ran down her neck. There were times when wearing armour was a rotten experience. She was cold and soaked to the skin. She flew slowly on Drogon, at least sixty miles ahead of the fleet, seeing nothing but an expanse of grey, choppy water. The shore lay about ten miles on her right, barely visible through the rain. Rhaegal and Viserion flew on either side. The dragons felt as miserable as she did, she guessed, shaking their heads from time to time to dislodge the water. She'd been flying for four hours since Dawn, and seen nothing untoward. It was time to turn back to the fleet. She took another draft from her hip-flask, and tapped Drogon on his left flank with her whip. The dragon wheeled, and the others followed.

Lord Paxter Redwyne watched with interest as he saw the steel buckets brought up on the deck of his ship, the Spitfire. Each was covered with a lid and packed with sand, and contained a clay pot filled with wildfire, to be launched at the enemy. News had reached him, a few days ago, of the death of his son, Horas, impaled on a stake by the Dragon Bitch. He'd cut her to into pieces if he got hold of her. He commanded the Royal naval squadron, twenty eight dromonds. The last few months had not been pleasant ones, to say the least. Euron Greyjoy and his moronic brother were the last people he wanted to share his life with, but needs must. He and the royal sailors had kept themselves apart from the Ironborn, as much as possible, but of course, he had to discuss strategy with the Greyjoys, and they were expected to feast each other. They were good sailors at least, he'd give them that. He knelt with the rest of the crew, to receive a blessing from the ship's Septon, in the driving rain. "The Seven are with us, my lord" said the Septon. "Today, we shall fill hell with the miserable souls of our enemies. Any of our men who falls will enter heaven as a martyr." He doubted whether the Seven would welcome the Greyjoys into Heaven, but held his tongue.

Flying far out into the Bay, Daenerys peered into the gloom, and her heart leapt into her mouth! At last, on the Eastern horizon, she saw dozens of masts. She gained speed, and flew closer. There could be no doubt about it. The enemy had set sail, and were converging on her own fleet. What to do? For a moment, she was tempted to take them on, just with her three dragons, but no. The rain meant she would have to fly much closer to the enemy than she would in good weather, and all it would take would be one unlucky bolt to kill or injure her. She turned away back to her own ships, to warn them of the coming fight. Half an hour later, she had reached the Black Wind, and shouted the news to Yara Greyjoy. She guessed that her uncles' fleet was about twenty miles away. 

Yara signalled that the enemy were closing from the South East, and the line of ships gradually formed itself into a crescent, sailing to meet them. She commanded them to sail in two lines, with a gap of about a hundred paces between each ship, to avoid them fouling each other. The fleet numbered over a hundred ships, and their line was about three miles long. She saw Arya emerge from below decks, now wearing a mail shirt. All the fighting men were donning armour, mail, padded jacks. A pair of her men were winching back the ballista. She knew they would be running the gauntlet of wildfire, and she signalled again, for the ships to drape cloth soaked in vinegar, across their bows. It would provide a limited protection. It started to rain more heavily, as the gale strengthened. She glanced upwards, to see the three dragons hovering overhead. She didn't envy Daenerys one bit in this weather. Her brother Theon joined her on deck, and they embraced, begging the Drowned God to keep the other in his keeping.

Miles away, Missandei was praying to the Lord of Harmony to keep Daenerys and her men safe; Tyrion was riding alongside Daario on his donkey as the army marched from Duskendale, hunched in his saddle against the rain; Tommen and Margaery were showing their baby to prominent citizens of Kings Landing, and Lady Olenna was considering a fresh plan to murder the Dragon Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. It's a matter of book canon that the effectiveness of dragon fire is considerably reduced by rain.
> 
> 2\. Ships' speeds. With the wind at their back, Euron's/Victarion's/Paxter's navy would have little difficulty sailing at 8 knots (9.2 miles) an hour. Sailing against the wind, under oar, Yara would be travelling at about a third of that speed.


	20. The Storm Breaks

On the Black Wind, Yara Greyjoy was making some rough mental calculations, as she watched her fleet, the line abreast rippling back and forth in sinuous curves, as the ships kept trying to adjust their positions, relative to her flagship at the centre, the banners streaming in the wind; dragon, kraken, and the seahorse of the Velaryons. Her lookouts had reported now that the enemy were visible, perhaps no more than five miles away, although it was hard to judge distances in the rain. Above the fleet flew the three dragons. She had suggested earlier that Daenerys focus on destroying the Royal Fleet from the air, if they encountered the enemy, as they would be the ships that possessed wildfire. There was no way that the government in Kings Landing would ever share such a closely-guarded secret with the Ironborn. Despite everything, she expected the battle to be decided by cold steel in the end. And, she knew that her uncles would seek her and Theon out. Family quarrels were always the most bitter. So be it. She grinned as she donned her mail shirt and helmet. There was no joy to compare with a good fight at sea. 

"Enemy on the horizon", Victarion heard the lookout calling. For a time, he hoped they had taken them unawares, but the lookout called down that they were in battle formation. He wore plate armour, and now donned his helmet. A ship's boy brought him his axe, Skullcleaver. Running the gauntlet of dragon fire was not something to look forward to, but he was Ironborn; his people laughed at danger and pain. What would he do with Yara and Theon, if he captured then, he wondered? He didn't share his brother's taste for extravagant cruelty, but he agreed the boy would have to be drowned, in honour of his own God. As for the girl, well, he'd keep her as his salt wife, perhaps; she was desirable, in a rough, unhewed way. He'd had little in the way of female companionship since his wife betrayed him with the Crow's Eye. Of course, he'd had no choice but to beat her to death and feed her to crabs, but he'd wept for her. He knew himself to be a sensitive man. He peered out from the bows of the Iron Victory, seeing the enemy emerging out of the rain. 

The Spitfire was in the front line, foam at her bows, the enemy now in view, perhaps two miles away. The wind was whipping at Lord Paxter's back, filling the sails of his ship, and aiding his oarsmen. His heart swelled as he looked across the line of battle , seeing the banners of stag and kraken billowing in the gale. It was time. "Load" he ordered. His men removed King Aerys' "fruits" from their buckets, and loaded two of them onto the catapults in the bows of the ship. Shortly, they would remove the tarpaulins that protected the bowstrings on each machine from the rain, turn the ratchets that drew them back, and light the tapers, before loosing them at the enemy, at effective range. "Oh my Gods" murmured his first mate. "For what we are about to receive, may the Seven make us truly thankful". He followed the man's glance and felt sick. Three dark shapes, like immense birds, wings beating swiftly, were rapidly approaching through the rain. But, these were no birds, he knew. "Every archer to the prow" he screamed. Men scrambled forward. He had to time this just right. No point loosing too soon. But, leave it too late, and they'd be burned to the waterline. "Loose!" he screamed, as the vast beasts raced towards him, filling his sight, perhaps no more than a fifty yards distant. Arrows and bolts flew at them, seemingly vanishing into the mirk, before the answer came, seconds later, a blast of fire that swept his ship. He stared about him; the ship was ablaze, his whole body was on fire. He began screaming, but mercifully, the world then exploded in green flame. 

Dany flew through the rain, visor closed. At last! The day had been a wretched one, but now she was closing with the enemy. Her vision was limited, but she could see the Royal Fleet, well enough, below her. A storm of bolts erupted from the nearest ship, most missing, a few bouncing off her breastplate, or Drogon, no more than an irritant. "Dracarys" she cried, and the dragons released their fire, at close range, reducing the first ship to a blazing wreck in seconds. Suddenly, it erupted in green flame, as the stores of wildfire, aboard it, ignited. Steadily, systematically, she flew back and forth, above the ships, reducing half to blazing wreckage within a few minutes. She was flying far closer to her targets than she would have wished, but even at close range, she was safe from her enemies' bolts. Until she wasn't. She suddenly screamed in pain. A bolt had lodged in the back of her knee, piercing the joint in her amour, and pinning her leg to her saddle. Gods above, the pain was indescribable! She reached down to pull at it, only to receive a blow to the head that knocked her senseless. 

Arya was horrified to see the dragons wheel away to port. Peering out across the deck's railing, she had watched them as they ignited one enemy ship after another. She felt for the enemy sailors, but she had always dreamed of seeing dragons in action. Yet, why had they turned away? Had Daenerys been killed? "Baby on the way" commented one of the sailors next to her. Not far distant now, the remaining ships of the royal fleet were releasing pots of wildfire from their catapults. Most missed their marks, but here and there they slammed into the sides and decks of their targets, releasing jets of green flame, which burned fiercely, even in the rain. Seconds later, bolts and arrows from the enemy vessels were sweeping across the decks of the Black Wind, piercing limbs, chests, throats, even as their own men responded in kind. She saw three men at one of the catapults pinned to the ship's rails by a bolt from a ballista. She felt a hard punch in the side, and saw a bolt spin away from her mail shirt. She stole a quick glance across her own line of battle. One sight was especially awful. A siphon belched a stream of green flame which turned a Velaryon ship into a living torch. Then, a sound like thunder rolled across the sea, as ships on each front line smashed into each other. She was almost knocked off her feet. Ropes with grappling hooks were flung across the railings of the ship, from an enemy vessel, and boarders leapt on to her deck. A roaring Ironborn giant led them, carving a path towards her with his mighty battle-axe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Greek fire, on which Wildfire is based, was the most closely-guarded secret of the Eastern Empire. So, closely-guarded in fact, that the exact formula has never been discovered. But, it was likely based on petroleum and naphtha, and time and again, the Byzantines used it to devastating effect at sea. It was either released by catapult in clay pots, or through a siphon. Even in wet conditions, it remained effective.


	21. A Near Run Thing

Victarion leapt roaring onto the deck of the Black Wind, followed by his men. He chopped down hard at the first of his enemy, cutting deep into his chest. He gave short, expert blows, at lighting speed. He could hear the bards chanting his saga in his imagination. 

"Victarion, the son of heroes, strode forth. His thoughts were red thoughts, and none could withstand him. Mighty was his wrath, and great Skullcleaever's slaughter. Noble Victarion, slayer and destroyer of demons!" 

"Cunt" screamed an armoured warrior, lunging for him with his blade. It was his very nephew, Theon. "Come to death!" he roared, aiming a savage blow at his head, which Theon barely parried. He shoulder-charged the lad, barrelling him into the ship's rail. As Theon slipped, he hacked his great axe down at his neck. The armour held, but Theon collapsed, his neck broken. Victarion screamed his triumph, sure he was heard in the Drowned God's watery halls. As he celebrated, he was almost knocked off his feet, as the ship gave a shuddering lurch. He looked up. Here, yes here indeed, was the Silence, come to join the fight and overwhelm his niece. He saw a wave of Ironborn leap over the rails on the opposite side of the ship. And then he spotted her, Yara, fighting among a knot of her men, at the foot of the mainmast. He yelled his challenge, and raced towards her.

This was not fighting as Arya understood it. It was vicious, intimate, and bloody, somewhere between a brawl in a back alley and a tavern-room fight, rather than the elegance of the water dance. She ducked a cutlass, swung savagely at her head, before slipping backwards onto her arse, in the rain and spray. She dodged to one side, moments before a pirate's club slammed into the deck where her head had been. Instinctively, she jabbed upwards with Needle, hearing a howl of pain. She rolled between the feet of the ironborn, with no idea if they were friends or foe. Fortunately, they were more intent on hacking and gouging at each other, rather than paying attention to the slim figure on the deck. She crawled to the ship's railing, intent at least on securing her back. She dared a glance across the deck. It was clear that Yara was losing. She and her men were being crowded back to the stern castle by scores of men, seemingly led by a great brute, and by a slimmer man, who had just leapt from the second ship. Without knowing why, she judged him the more dangerous of the two. She saw Yara dash the hilt of her cutlass into the face of one assailant, and parry a blow from another with her axe. Men were punching, bludgeoning, gouging each other, and she was at loss to know what to do. But, she couldn't let Yara down, and darted back into the fray. One pirate turned at her, snarling, a mouth full of rotten teeth. She dodged the blow of his axe, before shouting "Valar Morghulis" and driving her slim blade into his eye. She expected now to die, but she would go down fighting.

"Hot work your Grace" laughed Yara's first mate, Sigurd Harlaw, as he and Yara plunged into the fray, just before a bearded giant took his head off with a long sword. Yara buried her axe in the man's face, even as her mate's torso fell to the deck. Time to mourn him later, she thought, as she dived into the press. "Fucking whore" she heard a man scream behind her, just in time to duck the blow from his cutlass, before lunging forward, driving her cutlass into his mouth with her left hand, and out the back of his head. She felt the ship shudder as another hit it from behind. She didn't know it, but it was one of her own, and fresh men poured from it to join in the fight. Increasingly, the sailors on both sides realises that the fight hinged on the three flagships, as more galleys and longships came up, and fed men into the fight. Yara slipped and staggered. She realised that the decks were awash with blood, as well as seawater. She saw her uncles, Victorian, and the Crows-Eye, hacking through the press of men in front of her, both desperate to claim the credit for killing her. She screamed defiance at the pair, begging the sons of whores to come and be killed. 

Daenerys slowly regained consciousness, sensing that Drogon had removed her from the fray, and was circling some distance away, with the other dragons. She had a splitting headache. She raised her visor, discovering a crossbow bolt embedded in it, which presumably had knocked her out. In place of pain, her left leg felt cold and numb, probably a bad sign. With her right leg she nudged Drogon back to the fray, and stared down. Dozens of ships were now locked together in bitter combat. In places, the sea itself was aflame with wildfire. Hundreds of men were in the water, clinging to spars and wreckage, some of them still fighting each other, even as they struggled to stay alive. It was now starting to grow darker, as the afternoon wore on. For a few moments, she hovered above the fight, wondering what to do. Unleashing a fresh wave of dragon fire risked incinerating friend as well as foe. But then she had an idea. Staying well out of range of any bolts, she flew to the rear of the enemy, before circling and diving fast, lowering her visor as she went. She picked her first target, a dromond sporting the Baratheon banner. Flying low past its rear, Drogon flicked his tail at it on her command, smashing in the stern, as tons of seawater surged into the hold. Rising again, she saw Viserion toppling the mainmast of another enemy ship with his claws, sending it crashing down among the men gathered at the stern, even as Rhaegal stove in the deck of a galley. She dived again, Drogon this time plucking men off the deck with his claws, before rising fast, and releasing them to fall like stones into the sea. She saw a knot of ships right at the centre of the battle, recognising one as the Black Wind, and dived again. 

Victorian felt like a god. No man could withstand his mighty axe. He must have accounted for a score of the enemy today, as he hewed, chopped and cut. And there she was, facing him. The bitch from hell, his own niece. Forgetting any plan of keeping her as a salt-wife, he leapt towards her. She had but a dirk left in her hand, just cold meat now, for Skullcleaver. Only to feel a grip like iron on his shoulders. He shrieked as he found himself borne into the air. Other of his men screamed in the dragon's claws. Up, up, he went, more than a hundred feet into the air, crying to the Drowned God for aid. "Let them go" he heard a woman's voice command, and then he was falling. Oh, might he only hit the sea, and drown like a man! But, all he saw was the open maw of a green dragon, waiting to receive him. 

Arya watched in awe. Drogon had swooped down, plucking a dozen men from the deck. The bearded giant, who seconds earlier had been leading his men to victory, had vanished, screaming into the winds. His men halted, appalled. The slim man shouted at them to go on, crying out that dragons weren't dangerous. But, it was plain that many of them had had quite enough, and they turned to flee, seeking the safety of their own ships. Realising that the game was up, the slim man raced for his own ship with a knot of warriors, and Arya pursued him. She picked a hand axe from the deck, and hurled it at him, hitting him in the small of the back, and sending him sprawling. His men took no heed, leaping over the rails onto their ship and cutting the cables. Frantically, they steered away. She sprang over to the fallen man, who was starting to his feet, tripped him, and held Needle to his throat, while Yara and her men butchered the remaining enemy. "Well, well, my dear uncle Euron" mocked Yara, grinning as she sauntered over. "Up with him then!" she told her men. They fixed a rope around his neck as he cursed and swore, and then hauled him up from the yardarm, struggling furiously, in full view of neighbouring ships. "Use him for target practice", she commanded "but don't be too accurate!". 

The ship suddenly shook violently, and Arya saw that Drogon had landed on the water, extending one, long, leathery wing to the edge of the Black Wind. She heard the Queen calling for help. Her heart in her mouth, she lowered herself over the ship's side, and crept up the dragon's wing to aid the Queen. "I've got a bolt in the leg" she explained. She'd unlocked her chains, and Arya examined the injury, as best she could. She cut a large chunk of cloth, out of her breeches, to staunch the wound, before pulling hard on the bolt, causing Daenerys to scream as she drew it. After binding the wound, she dragged the Queen back towards the ship. Friendly hands pulled them aboard. Yara came over to assist. "The day is ours, Daenerys" she said, grinning. Daenerys tried to smile, but her teeth were chattering, and she was shivering violently. "Take her below to my cabin" Yara commanded. Arya and two other others carried her below-decks to the cabin, and laid her on Yara's cot. Arya unbuckled the Queen's armour, and removed her underclothes, before rebinding her wound, and wrapping her in a blanket. She poured a flask of spirits into her mouth. "Whatever you do, don't let them cut off my leg" Daenerys commanded her, before passing out.


	22. The Garden

"Had we but world enough and time, this coyness Lady, were no crime", quoted Lord Baelish from an old Valyrian sonnet. The late afternoon was warm, with soft breezes wafting scents, of yew, dwarf pine, and cypress, in the evergreen garden of Harrenhall. The knights of the Vale had ridden South, meeting scant opposition, and had taken the castle without bloodshed. Sansa tensed herself, as the older man pressed his suit. In truth, agreeing to a betrothal made much sense. The North and the Vale would make a formidable alliance. And yet, the man had gravely wronged her. Still, he had rescued her too. The knights of the Vale had saved her and Jon both from defeat at the hands of the Beast. 

"So, would you spend a century, admiring my eyes, and another one praising each of my breasts?" she replied, showing her familiarity with the poem. 

"A millenium would be too short for that" the man replied. "But, you and I do not have such time. Come, I dream of you at my side. I would cherish you as my Lady."

"You would cherish me........or my mother?"

"I will never deny that I loved your mother. When I met her, I was the heir to a dunghill. Your mother was ........a goddess. A vision of beauty. I should not even have presumed to set eyes on her. And yet, she was kind, gracious, good, and, I believe she loved me." 

"There you err, Lord Baelish. My mother loved my father, she never strayed in that love." 

"And, that was a part of her perfection. She loved your father, I agree, yet against her original inclination. I was too lowly for her. Lord Tully sent me away from Riverrun, in disgrace. My love for your mother was a pure love. She had a husband worthy of her. Your father was an excellent man. I could love your mother from afar, but also rejoice that she loved her husband. So few noble ladies do."

"So what do you see in me?" 

"Wisdom, compassion, beauty, goodness." 

Sansa snorted with disdain. "There is little goodness or compassion in me, Petyr, and you know it. You are not a fool, and I'd thank you not to behave as if I am one. You know how I disposed of the Beast. Was that the act of a good person? I persuaded my brother to execute enemy soldiers after we retook Winterfell. Was that an act of virtue? I have put men to the question, and have felt......nothing as I watched them suffer. If I were a good person, I would have died screaming at the hands of Joffrey or Cersei or the Beast. Good people do not survive the game of thrones."

"I think perhaps, you misjudge yourself." 

"I think perhaps, flattery lies like honey on your tongue." She saw his mouth set in a line. "Or, if I am being charitable, you see virtues in me that are not there. Come, Petyr, let us be honest together. I do not love you. I doubt that I shall ever love you. You are clever, comely, charming, and are destined for greatness. Nonetheless, you are duplicitous, ruthless, and faithless. I do not know what part you played in my father's betrayal, but I suspect it was not an honest one. " His face was like a mask. "But, that need not be the end of all your hopes. If I were to marry you, know well that this would be a matter of politics on my part. I would be a good wife to you, and bear and raise your children. Rest assured, I would never be unfaithful to you. I would be a diplomat for you, and advance your interests. But, there are terms......" 

"Name them", he replied. 

"It is the custom in much of the South for a wife's property to be vested in her husband. That will not occur. What I own remains mine."

"Agreed." 

"I want two hundred and fifty thousand acres of land in the Vale vested in my name. A mix of pasture, downs, woodland, orchards, and vineyards. The revenues shall be mine to spend as I please." 

"I believe that can be arranged".

"The Three Sisters will be ceded to the North in perpetuity." 

"Do you think I can just give away the territory of the Vale?" 

"I do. If you judge the reward sufficient." 

"And is there more?" 

"My Lord Brother needs soldiers. The North has suffered grievously in recent wars. Once Queen Daenerys has ascended the Iron Throne, you will place a thousand horse, and three thousand foot of the Vale at his disposal. Those are my terms. Oh, and one other thing......" 

"Go on" he replied grimly. 

"You will have an idea, I think, of what the Beast did to me. You own brothels. You are aware that some men have depraved tastes. For whippings, beatings, rapes, cutting. Be assured, that if you attempt such deeds with me, I will kill you with at least as much cruelty as I killed the Beast of Bolton. And, you will divest yourself of such establishments. My husband will not be a whoremaster."

"You exact a high price" he remarked. 

"You have assured me of your love. If the price is too high, well, rest assured, we shall remain allies. You and I wish the Dragon Queen to gain the Iron Throne. Better still, we have common enemies. " 

"And what do you think of Daenerys Targaryen?" 

"Do you think to trap me in treason, Lord Baelish?" 

"No, I'm interested in your views." 

"I think she is.....good, great even, yet overly trusting. I worry she is not long for this world." 

"Worry. Or hope?" 

"You overstep the mark. She has granted the North all we could hope for. It is very much to our advantage that she should reign at Kings Landing. But, she does not realise that she has surrounded herself with snakes."

"Meaning me, I suppose?" 

"Meaning you. Meaning me. Meaning the Spider. Meaning Ellaria Sand." 

"Oh come now, you wrong her. Her Highness, Princess Ellaria Martell." 

"If you say so." 

"You have been frank with me, Sansa. Dangerously frank, some might say. Let me be frank in turn. I support Daenerys wholeheartedly, not because I love her, but for the best of reasons. I expect her to win. And to grant me what I desire. Yes, Sansa, I accept your terms. I will take your hand in marriage."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The poem being discussed at the start is To His Coy Mistress, by the metaphysical poet, Andrew Marvell.
> 
> 2\. The Three Sisters are islands that have often been disputed between the North and the Vale.


	23. The Tavern By the River Gate

"Scarcely a ship gets in or out now" remarked Margaery to Tommen. They stood on the battlement above the River Gate, staring out at the Blackwater. Clearly visible were the enemy warships which now held a chokehold on Kings Landing. "Harrenhall has fallen without a blow being struck. Yet, they say the Dragon Queen was injured and taken ill during the fight. That's our best hope at this moment. Should she not recover, we can still negotiate with the other leaders. We could recognise Yara Greyjoy as Queen of the Iron Islands, and offer the North their independence. Surely, Lord Baelish could be bought off, too. " 

"We can't count on that. I take it you've made arrangements.......in case the worst should happen?"

"Yes, I have sweetsleep for us both. And, my cousin Elinore has contacts across the Narrow Sea. There are merchant princes with barren wives who would happily adopt our child as their own. Joanna would never know who her parents were; that is for the best."

"Treason extends into the Reach, now. Even into my own family". 

"I thought better of Lady Genna. I certainly thought better of cousin Megga. She taught me kissing when I was younger; we were so close. Now, she wants Highgarden for her own. She was a very poor relation, when I made her a Lady in Waiting. This is how she repays me ." 

"The Fossoways of Cider Hall have declared for the Dragon Queen." Margaery cursed. 

"Lady Leonette's own family! Garlan will be furious." 

"Margaery, I hate to say it, but your brother is one of the reasons why our lives are forfeit." 

"Don't I know it? I could scream with fury about it! I so very much want to live, for you, for Joanna, even if I did lose my crown and my family lost Highgarden. If you and I were allowed to live on as minor gentry, somewhere in the Reach, I'd still count myself blest. You truly are the best of husbands. " She leaned over to kiss him passionately, ignoring the glances of their bodyguards. "Think of it" she continued wistfully. "We'd have an orchard, and a rose garden. You'd run the estate, and I'd manage our household. We'd watch Joanna playing with her friends, while we sipped wine. We'd hunt and ride, or play cyvasse together. Not too long ago, I'd have thought that a deadly dull existence. Now it seems like an earthly paradise." She sighed. "I love my homeland. You only appreciate what you have when you're about to lose it."

"Let's do something better, Margaery, than just bemoaning our fate. There's a fine tavern nearby, The Pied Bull. " Margaery smiled. It was a game they liked to play that endeared them to the Smallfolk. They descended from the city wall, and entered the tavern. The pair of them drew hoods over their heads. One of the staff ushered them them to a table, before returning with a flagon of wine, and a plate of bread, cheese, and cold meats. She looked around the common room. The place was clean and friendly, with stone flags and a pleasant, homely, smell. She guessed it was used by ships' captains, merchants, brokers, and gentry visiting the capital. It was mid-day, and the place was three quarters' full. With the city blockaded by sea, she supposed they had not much else to do than gather in such establishments. 

"The ironic thing is" she commented to Tommen "I'm hoping for the death of a woman for whom I have nothing but the utmost respect. If you weren't the king, I'd be on her side." 

"I would be too" he replied wryly. He drew back his hood, and she followed suit. It was always fun to wait and see when they would be recognised. For a time they talked about Joanna, before:- 

"Your Graces!" A prosperous-looking man knelt before them, having doffed his hood. The room fell silent as more heads turned, and people fell to their knees. 

Margaery stood up with Tommen. "Good people, don't kneel before us. If anything, we should be apologising to you. We failed you when we were defeated at sea. The Pirate Queen throttles your trade. Our own fleet is sunk or fled." 

"The Dragon Bitch betrayed you" replied the first man. "The people of this city stand with your Graces!" There were loud cheers of support from the others. 

"Alas, she did. We sought peace, and she wrought slaughter upon us ". She winced, inwardly, at the lie. "We cannot, at this stage, compensate you for your losses, but perhaps you would care to drink our health today. " She tossed a small purse of dragons at the delighted innkeeper. "Good man, bring out your very finest wines for our guests. " He and his servants hastened to obey.

"Would you care to join us at table?" she asked the first man. He sat down with them.

"Tell me your name" asked Tommen. "Lionel Mott, your Grace. I write binders for ships' captains. To tell the truth, I'm facing ruin. If the Pirate Queen captures merchant vessels, or simply stops them from sailing, I have to make good the losses." 

"Tell me where you live, Master Mott" said Margaery. "I'm sure we can compensate you, at least."

"That's kind indeed, your Grace. Telling the truth, though, this isn't the worst of it. We're all afraid of what she'll do to this city. She's got the Ironborn and foreign savages in her ranks, not to mention the wolves of the North and the Dornish. Everyone knows what *they* do to their captives. And then there are the dragons. " The man shuddered.

"I won't deny the situation is grave" she replied. "We just have to remain united in defence of the true king," she nodded to Tommen. 

"Begging your pardon, your Grace ", he looked at Tommen "But, we did not love your mother or your brother. But, you are both adored by the people. The Targaryen whore might destroy us, but, we'll never surrender to her."

Tommen rose and bowed to the man. "Thank you. I'll try to be worthy of your support". 

After a few minutes more, they rose, and left to the cheers of the drinkers. They had to meet her grandmother, and the rest of the Small Council, no doubt to hear more bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Lady Leonette Fossoway is the wife of Ser Garlan Tyrell in the books. Lady Genna Lannister is Tommen's great aunt.
> 
> 2\. A binder is an insurance contract.


	24. A Coastal Interlude

"She's soft at heart", Tyene Martell complained.

"Tell that to Lord Tarly, or what remains of him. You'll recall his dying was prolonged and painful". Varys smiled across the table at her, as they played Cyvasse. They currently resided in the coastal villa of a merchant prince, about fifty miles from the capital. The Queen lay abed there, gradually recovering her strength. The eunuch savoured the scents of pine and bouganvelia, as they wafted into the sitting room.

"But, now you say, she'll let the child live, and even Tommen will be allowed to take the Black! My sister died in that fire. I want justice for her!"

"And, you shall have justice, my dear. I'm afraid that both Lord Tyrion and Lady Genna have been pleading for their nephew and niece. I have argued for a more realistic course of action. There is no point in allowing wounded tigers to live on, but so far, I have not persuaded the Queen. I take it you would prefer them to be fed to Innocence and Gold Dust."

"That would be far too merciful. I would make Tommen and Margaery watch as I slowly dismembered their child." She then proceeded to give a graphic account of the tortures she would inflict on the pair of them which made even the Spider's blood run cold.

"Remind me never to offend the Dornish. " he replied, dryly. "Like it or not, the royal couple are hugely popular with the Smallfolk of Kings Landing. Your suggestions would not be appreciated. My suggestion is that we take them and their baby into custody, and confine them to a fortress. I suspect that sooner or later they would contract a "chill." In fact, I fear it would be inevitable."

"Less elaborate than I would like, but sensible, at least."

"I fear your dragon has fallen victim to my catapult." He deftly removed the piece from the board. 

Tyene knocked her king over, conceding defeat, and gave the eunuch a gold dragon, their usual wager. "You are improving rapidly" Varys consoled her. "Now, you must learn to control your emotions. You and I know that wounded tigers must be destroyed, but the Queen would be most displeased had she heard what you said just now. She would certainly not view you as her successor, if she thought you would be like her father. It caused her a good deal of pain to learn of her father's true nature. Now, I do not chide you for your amusements, but you should practise them with discretion. "A quiet land, a peaceful people" was the motto of the late Lord Bolton. Make it yours." 

"Her successor?" Tyene replied, eyes like saucers. 

"She came within a hair's breadth of dying at sea. She is hunted by assassins. Her life hangs by a thread. It is imperative that she choose a successor. You are now royalty; the blood of the Targaryens flows in your veins. Your mother concurs."

"Queen of the Seven Kingdoms" she said, wistfully. 

"Well, six of them, anyway. Frankly, the North is more trouble than it's worth." 

She frowned and leaned over to him. "And, what do you want, Lord Varys?" 

"To be made Hand of the Queen. To rule this land, under your authority, of course." 

"And what of Lord Tyrion? The Queen holds him in high regard." 

"He must learn that decisions made by one Queen are not binding on another. Let him content himself with the rule of Casterly Rock."

"Who, truly, do you serve, Lord Varys?" 

"Why, the Realm of course. Someone has to." 

There was a knock, and a servant entered. "Lord Tyrion wishes to speak to you, my Lord, my Lady." 

"By all means, let him enter." Tyrion came into the room, and poured himself wine from a carafe. 

"Tyrion, my old friend. How is the Queen's Grace?" 

"Recovering, slowly. We underestimate the danger she faces, flying her dragons. A chance bolt could end her life, and shatter our alliance." 

"She is a true Targaryen, I'm afraid. Like Queen Rhaenys, she scorns danger. You have other news?" 

"Good and bad. My Lady," he nodded to Tyene. "I'm afraid your mother suffered a reverse at Ashford at the hands of Ronnet Connington. She has retreated back to the Marches. But, the knights of the Vale ride for the capital from Harrenhall. And, there is unrest in the Reach, which we are exploiting. Several lesser houses have risen in our support." 

"No doubt, they desire to become Great Houses" commented Varys. 

"And hear this, the Princess Sansa and Lord Baelish are betrothed." 

"Lucky girl" replied the eunuch wryly. "Lord of Harrenhall, Master of Coin, Regent of the Vale, and soon to be good-brother to the King in the North. That's quite an ascent for the Lord of Sheepshit, wouldn't you say? Would you say your former wife is truly in love with the man?" 

"I pity Sansa. Joffrey and my sister did awful things to her. But, she suffered far worse at the hands of the Beast. I don't know the details, and nor do I want to know them. But, Sansa as I first knew her, died at some point along the way. The girl who loved romances, and sang to the Seven, and played the high harp, became a cold, calculating, woman. She did discuss the match with me beforehand, and no, there is no love there. This is a matter of politics."

"But, none the worse for that. Still, it troubles me to see our old rival accumulate such influence. I believe you still have a score to settle with the man?" 

"The matter of a certain dagger still stands between us. Nor do I think he has reached the summit of his ambitions." 

"Pray tell." 

"Lord Robyn Arryn is ailing. Should he die, the Vale will require a new lord or lady. There are several potential claimants, including the Princess Sansa. The Queen thinks well of her. Or perhaps, she might reward Lord Baelish for his support by granting him the title. Either way, their children will rule the Vale." 

"I fear for Sweetrobin. The poor lad cannot be long for this world, surely?" 

"My thoughts exactly." 

"Thank you for telling me this. My dear" he glanced at Tyene " I think we are all agreed that Lord Baelish has quite enough influence as it is. There are worthier candidates for the Lordship of the Vale. I trust we will be at one in urging them to the Queen's Grace." 

"We are as one" Tyrion replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Innocence and Gold Dust are Ellaria's she bears at the Water Gardens, to whom she feeds her enemies (see chapter 5).


	25. The Duellists

"Time to begin, Your Grace" remarked Arya, even as Tyrion, Tyene, and Varys were conversing in the sitting room. Yara had released her from her duties on board the Black Wind, for the time being. Her initial suspicions towards Daenerys had largely vanished, as she had come to know, and admire the woman. And of course, it was very much in the interests of Jon and Sansa that she should triumph. Daenerys was wearing leather breeches and jerkin, and followed her into the garden of the villa where they were staying. Arya drew Needle, and handed the Queen a blunted short sword. She then fixed a leather cap on top of her own blade. She intended to train her, not injure her.

She watched as the Queen still limped slightly, on the leg which had taken the bolt, and raised the sword, clumsily. "Riding a dragon can blind you to threats that are closer to hand. No offence, you'll never be able to fight like a water dancer. But, I can make you competent, if you ever meet an assassin. Now, always face your opponent side on; that way, you present much less of a target. She walked behind the Queen, adjusting her position to her satisfaction. Now watch me." She thrust, parried, and cut, making Daenerys mimic her actions. She kept this up for the best part of an hour. By this, point, Daenerys was blowing hard, although Arya had scarcely broken a sweat.

"Shall we break off, for a moment?" suggested Daenerys. 

"Your enemies won't let you. Nor will I. Now, try to strike me." 

They confronted each other, sideways. Arya glided in, cutting right and left at Daenerys' face, as she desperately sought to parry the blows. "A girl is dead' commented Arya, pointing her sword directly at the Queen's chest. "Again". They kept it up for another hour, with Arya "killing" her opponent more than a dozen times. On the last occasion, Daenerys' weak leg gave way, and she landed on her arse, only for Arya to drive her sword down, stopping just short of her windpipe. 

"If you mean to murder the Queen's Grace, I'd do it in front of fewer witnesses, if I were you" remarked Tyrion, dryly. He had joined them in the garden, along with Lord Varys. Arya took Daenerys' hand, and helped her up from the ground.

"I've just been taught my limitations as a fighter" replied the Queen. 

"You have good reflexes" commented Arya, "you just have to practice. I'll teach you how to use a dagger, as well as a short sword". 

"A wise precaution" remarked the Spider. "Your murderers are your friends and allies. They come with smiles on their faces." Arya fancied that she felt a sudden chill, despite the warmth of the day. The man's face was bland, as ever, giving nothing away. 

Daenerys called for a servant to bring them all a flagon of persimmon wine, chilled with ice. They sat down to talk. "Arya is teaching me to defend myself" commented the Queen. "The moment my leg is fully healed, I'll be taking her flying with Drogon." Riding a dragon was something Arya had dreamed of, since she was young. 

Tyrion gave them the same news that he had given Varys and Tyene earlier. "So, we make progress" commented Daenerys. "There are still several strongholds to subdue before we reach the capital, but it seems our enemies are beginning to unravel. The Tyrells' hold on the Reach is less secure than we thought." 

"Every Great House has a vassal who dreams of taking their place" remarked Tyrion. "Lady Megga was Margaery's Tyrell's childhood friend, but she would happily see Margaery impaled, if it brought her Highgarden". 

"Is that what you intend, your Grace?" asked Arya. Daenerys frowned, sipping from her goblet. 

"I liked the woman when we met. I hoped we could be friends. But, I can't forgive her family's treachery. I believe Tommen to be blameless, so I shall permit him to take the Black, and I will not hold their infant daughter responsible for her family's deeds; she is heir to Storms End, and she will remain a ward of the Crown, until she turns sixteen. But, as for Margaery herself, I see no option other than for her to die. Your own sister is adamant she must die, Arya. I expect I shall let her take her own life, in whatever manner she sees fit." 

"A great deal better than she merits, your Grace", commented Varys, "You have a gentle heart. Lord Tyrion and I have two delicate matters to raise with you. The first is your remarriage; the second is your succession." 

"Don't I have the chance to mourn for my murdered husband?" she replied. 

"Of course, your Grace" commented Tyrion, "but a a fresh marriage alliance must still be forged. There are several eligible suitors. Lord Varys and I have considered them in detail, and we concur that Ser Edric Dayne would be the most suitable". 

"I have had three husbands. Each one has died violently. Do you not consider that to be a message from the Gods? No, I shall not wed again. Or at any rate, give me time to think on it." 

"And the succession?" enquired Varys. 

Daenerys sighed. "Yes, I suppose you are right to press me. Many families can claim Targaryen blood, yet only distantly. Some of them are fighting me, which rules them out. " 

"The Martells are both your closest relatives, and they are royalty" remarked Varys. 

"But, I cannot be happy at the manner of their rise to power" she replied. "Nothing I have learned suggests to me that either Prince Doran or his son, deserved to die at their hands. " 

"The politics of Dorne is a deadly game, with few merciful players" commented Varys ruefully. "There are worse fates for this realm than to have a ruthless monarch. It will do the Great Houses no harm at all to learn that they are ruled by a family who will brook no disloyalty." 

"Apart from their own treason, that is" commented Tyrion. 

"Treason which prospers is, by definition, no treason" shot back Varys. 

"Do you have a view, Arya? I'm sure your sister and her betrothed must have." 

"I do. You've already agreed to serve as Protector of the Seven Kingdoms. A military leader, whose authority is separate from the authority of the King in the North, or the Princess of Dorne. I'm sorry if this sounds impertinent, but I have discussed it with my sister, and this is her suggestion. Why not put aside, for the time being, who is to be king or queen after you, and nominate a successor as Protector? I know this will sound selfish, but I can think of no one better suited for the role than my brother, Jon. Like you, he knows of the danger we all face from beyond the Wall. He has no ambition at all to rule any lands South of the Neck, but he would gladly serve as war leader of the Seven Kingdoms, in the war that is to come. Or, Gods forbid, were you to fall, before taking the Iron Throne." 

"This suggestion is purely self-serving" snapped Varys. "Your family would rule the North, the Vale, and in fact, if not in law, the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. " 

Arya saw the Queen, looking thoughtful. "What say you, Lord Tyrion?"

"Were this suggestion to relate to anyone other than Jon Snow, I would agree with Lord Varys" he remarked after a while. "Most war leaders would simply seize the Iron Throne. Yet, he is different. Rather like your Grace, in fact, I believe he views power as a burden, not an entitlement. Yes.....I could see merit in that idea." Arya glanced at Varys, who looked as if he had swallowed a wasp. 

" Then, give me a day or two, to chew on this idea, and I shall give you my decision" remarked Daenerys. 

"Well, I've made a mortal enemy of the Spider" thought Arya. "Your murderers are your friends, indeed!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. As well as Lord Yohn Royce, Hizdahr Zo Loraq, and Khal Drogo died violently.
> 
> 2\. "Treason doth never prosper: what's the reason? Why, if it prosper, none dare call it treason" according to Sir John Harrington.


	26. The Mother of Harlots

Olenna's mood was sombre as she entered the Sept of Queen Naerys, where the new High Septon was about to preach. She had hand-picked the man, a fervent partisan of House Tyrell. The man was as much a bigot as the late High Sparrow, but sensible enough not to offend the family upon whose favour he depended. She glanced at Margaery and Tommen, sitting beside her in the pew. Gods above! How she had misjudged her granddaughter. The girl was as much a weakling as her husband after all. She had even had the nerve to say that if she wasn't Queen, she'd be in Daenerys' camp. Olenna had reminded her that she'd be burned on a pyre if she fell into the Dragon Bitch's hands. "A skilled executioner can make it last for an hour. He'll damp the wood, to make it slow. The pain starts at your feet, and it just gets worse and worse. It must feel like an eternity" she'd told her, smiling nastily. "Thanks to you!" Margaery had snapped back. The ingratitude of it stung. She had schemed, plotted and murdered on behalf of her family her whole life, and Ser Garlan was the only one who appreciated her efforts. Her son was a fool, Ser Loras had been a sodomite, and Margaery, who she had thought a worthy successor, was a coward after all.

The man began to preach.

"And there came one of the seven angels which had the seven vials, and talked with me, saying unto me, Come hither; I will shew unto thee the judgment of the great whore that sitteth upon many waters: With whom the kings of the earth have committed fornication, and the inhabitants of the earth have been made drunk with the wine of her fornication. So he carried me away in the spirit into the wilderness: and I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet coloured beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns. And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication: And upon her forehead was a name written, MYSTERY, BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH. And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs, and when I saw her, I wondered with great admiration.And the angel said unto me, Wherefore didst thou marvel? I will tell thee the mystery of the woman, and of the beast that carrieth her, which hath the seven heads and ten horns." 

The congregation began to stir uneasily. "What then, is the mystery of the woman? Who is the Mother of Harlots and Abominations of the Earth. I shall tell you. She threatens this very city! Daenerys Targaryen. A murderer, a traitor, a harlot. She calls herself Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, yet she is the Queen of whores! She is a witch, and are we not taught that we shall not suffer a witch to live? In better days, our ancestors would have burned her kind at the stake! Her hands drip with the blood of innocents. Her woman's parts drip with the seed of a thousand men, her mouth also! She commits fornication with demons. She allies herself with the Northern savages who worship trees and mate with beasts. And Lo! She has appointed her own false prophet, Hallayne, who dares to call himself High Septon. A man who spews heresy and blasphemy, and sucks worms from the very anus of the Lord of the Seven Hells! " 

"A man who sits the Iron Throne may choose to sin, and be judged accordingly by the Seven. Yet a woman who presumes to sit the Iron Throne commits a sin by doing so! It is not a woman's place to rule over men. " Olenna sighed inwardly, but the man had to be endured. " Such a woman mocks the Seven, and calls down their judgement upon her. Have we forgotten the treasonous whore Cersei Lannister, who murdered my predecessor; who butchered her very son, who mocked the Seven and murdered infants. Yet, she is as naught next to the one who calls herself Mother of Dragons. Mother of Demons, rather. She is more cruel than Maegor and filthier than Aegon the Unworthy. Let her repent of her sins and confess her evil deeds. Let her go to the judgement she merits, liar, whore, traitor" he screamed, spraying spittle over those members of the congregation sitting in front of him. Many of the congregation were now on their feet, shouting their hatred of the Targaryen. Really, she found the man and his views absurd, but there was no doubt he could work a crowd. Even many of the highborn seemed swayed by him. As for the commons, well, Septons and Septas would be preaching the same message throughout the city, working the population into a frenzy. Hayford had fallen to the army of the Vale, just three day's march from the city, and Daenerys' army was gradually reducing the remaining strongholds in the Crownlands, but they would face a terrible fight for the city, with the populace roused to fury against them. "Every man who dies in the struggle against the Usurper, is assured of a place with Seven! " he concluded. "Rise, go forth and send the Dragon Queen and her servants to the hell they so richly deserve!" Hundreds rose to their feet and applauded the High Septon. Tommen and Margaery had faces set like stone, she noticed. The lad could hardly welcome the reminder about his mother, she supposed, and as for Margaery, the stupid girl actually seemed to feel guilt over what they had done. She would happily roast Lady Megga over a slow fire, but at least she had the kind of spirit that her granddaughter lacked.

"A most uplifting sermon your Holiness" she simpered, as she greeted the man. "Truly, you are a worthy successor to your distinguished predecessor, so cruelly martyred for the Faith. " 

"I thank your Ladyship. I speak as the Seven guide me. Have no fear, they will aid us all in our time of need." 

Hopefully they would, she thought. Her assassins had so far failed to reach the Queen, but the fanaticism of the crowds might succeed, where her killers had failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Queen Naerys was a famously devout woman who had the misfortune to be married to Aegon the Unworthy. She wanted to be a Septa. It would make sense for her to have a prominent Sept named after her.
> 
> 2\. Sadly, theological invective, of the type favoured here, has fallen out of fashion. The abuse that Protestants and Catholics hurled towards each other, in earlier centuries, is distinctly entertaining.


	27. Arya's First Flight

"There, just so." Daenerys snapped the lock shut, fastening Arya to the back of Drogon. The saddle was large enough for two, and the Stark girl sat behind her. She tapped the dragon with her whip, and he leapt forward, into the air. They had launched themselves from Fairford, a village just twenty miles West of the capital, where the vanguard of the army were camped. Already, outriders had made contact with the army of the Vale, and the forces expected to converge within a day or two. The day was fine, so unlike the last time she had flown. Gradually, they circled upwards. Dany could see fields, and towns spread below her, and a haze of smoke where Kings Landing lay. 

"How do you like it?" she called to Arya. 

"Terrifying" she answered. "But, it's like nothing on earth. Even if I died now, it would be worth it, to have ridden a dragon." 

The Queen laughed. "That's exactly how I felt, the first time I rode. Why not try riding Rhaegal, or Viserion when we get back? I can only ride one dragon." 

"How would I know if I'm a dragonlord?" 

"You don't; that's the thing. You never rule a dragon. A dragon will either eat you, or it will let you ride it. If the latter, then you're a dragonlord. But, the risk is worth it." 

Arya didn't reply. Then she asked "Are we heading for the capital". 

"No, but there are forces marching for the capital from the Stormlands. Ellaria is still miles away with her army, so I want to disrupt the enemy. " They flew South West across the Blackwater, the Kingswood looming in the distance. They both wore helms and armour, but with their visors open, conversation was easy enough. 

"Can I be blunt, your Grace.?" 

"Be as blunt as you like. You don't have to call me "your Grace" either, when we're on our own together. You're royalty too, you know." She grinned, knowing how much Arya hated the trappings of privilege. 

"How can you be allied to a woman like Ellaria? She murdered her own family to get where she is. " 

"A fair question. But then, how can your sister marry a man like Lord Baelish? I've heard much about the man from Lord Tyrion. I can't pick and choose my allies, I can only try to hold them in check. Speaking frankly, Ellaria is an evil woman. But, she holds Dorne fast. I need the Dornish on my side. There are few honourable parties in this war."

"You aren't evil. Doesn't it taint you to ally with those who are?" 

Dany laughed mirthlessly. "There are hundreds of thousands of people in this world who would dispute that. Men, women, and children have died at my hands. I have sacked cities. I've destroyed the homes and hopes of thousands. I've reduced palaces to dust. Believe me, Arya, if that bolt had killed me, a million people would have cheered." 

"The people you freed wouldn't." 

"No, they wouldn't. That's the comfort I hold on to. That, and the fact that I have to save this realm from the threat beyond the Wall." They had now reached the Kingswood, which lay a couple of hundred feet beneath them, the vast forest stretching for miles, with here and there, a clearing for a village or farmstead. "When my blood is up, I can really enjoy killing. I discovered that at Astapor. That can't be a good thing."

"I've enjoyed killing. I made Lame Lothar and Black Walder suffer terribly, before they died. The sons of Walder Frey." 

"Go on". 

" I removed their faces, slowly and carefully. They were crying, I think, but it was hard to tell. I left them one eye apiece, just so they could see where their next bout of pain would be coming from. I gelded each one. Then I carved them into pieces, and fed them to their father in a pie. Then, I opened his throat. After that, I took his face and invited every male member of that family to a banquet, where I poisoned them. And, I enjoyed every single moment of their suffering. My sister enjoyed feeding her rapist to his dogs. I removed Meryn Trant's eyes, and bled him slowly. He was begging me for death, long before I gave it to him. I don't think there's much difference between the Wolf blood, and the Dragon blood." 

"Both our families are predators, for good or ill, " Dany replied. They flew on, chatting from time to time, for a couple of hours, before the trees below them began to thin out, giving way to wide grasslands. Then, she saw her prey, a large squadron of cavalry, bearing the banners of stag and rose, and a column of foot marching behind them ,towards the Kingswood, and then on to the city. "Now, we strike," she called out to Arya "Visor down" she slammed hers shut. She nudged Drogon with her foot, and the dragon glided downwards. Men were screaming below them, breaking in all directions. Some of the horsemen galloped hard for the Kingswood, others scattering into open countryside. Barely thirty feet from the ground, she cried "dracarys" withering a band of horsemen with flames. Systematically, she flew back and forth, burning men and horses alike, seeing armour melting into their flesh as it glowed white hot and flowed down in runnels, before nudging the dragon skywards again. Most of the soldiers had escaped her, but that didn't matter. She raised her visor saying "Most of them don't need to die. We've broken them. Either they'll desert, or they'll reach the city bearing tales of horror. Either is to the good." She flew on, encountering fresh bodies of men, and twice repeating the process. A couple of times, she was struck with bolts, but to no effect. Her armour was too good, and these were men loosing bows in panic, not taking proper care with their aim. "Now we return' she called out, as the afternoon wore on, turning back to the Kingswood. After an hour, they were flying over the deepest part of the forest. "Shall we be bold?' the Queen called out. 

"What do you mean?" 

Without answering, she began the descent to a clearing, from where woodsmoke rose up. She heard screams as she approached the village and landed. A small crowd of peasants, plainly terrified, had gathered, although she saw others running into the surrounding woods. "Good people, have no fear. I would enjoy your hospitality, that is all." She unfastened the chains, and she and Arya climbed down. One man stood before her, she guessed the village reeve or bailiff, bolder than the rest. 

"What do you want with us.......your Grace?" He was still unsure whether he was actually addressing the Mother of Dragons. 

"To get to know my subjects. Please, I would like you all to drink to my health." She handed the man a substantial purse. Minutes later, she and Arya were being served ale in the village's tavern, the innkeeper fawning over them, as they talked to the reeve, and a group of excited woodsmen and their wives. The ale tasted like dragon's piss, but she gave every sign of enjoyment as she quaffed it. Her mood was light, and only a fool would threaten a woman whose dragon waited watchfully outside. After a couple of hours, they were all quite merry, eating a decent goat stew, as the reeve told a succession of filthy stories, that had everyone in a roar. Even the ale didn't taste so bad, after several mugs of it. 

"I slaughter a hundred men in battle, and do they call me Eric Bloodaxe? No. " cried the reeve, now quite drunk. "I build a sept, and do they call me Eric the Pious? No. I father a dozen children, and do they call me Eric the Virile? Never. Yet, I fuck one pig, and what do you think they call me?' 

"Eric the Pig-Fucker" shouted the drinkers, laughing uproariously. 

Dany and Arya laughed with the rest. "Well, time marches on, we must leave. Thank you for your hospitality. " The woodsmen cheered them as they left the tavern, before slipping behind it to relieve themselves. "Gods above, I'd hang my butler if he served ale like that" she commented to Arya. 

"Huh, I've drunk far worse than that" she replied. 

"At least it gets you drunk" commented the Queen, as they scrambled on board the great beast. "I've never flown Drogon when drunk, but I'm sure he'll get us home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. A feature of medieval society is that everyone loved bawdy humour. It's only in later centuries that peasants would have been abashed at telling coarse jokes in the presence of royalty.


	28. The Warpath

"Congratulations, Petyr. My former wife is everything you could desire in your Lady."

"Young love will brook no delay, Tyrion. I count myself the most fortunate of men." Tyrion knew that he and Sansa had wed, two days previously, in a small Sept on the Kingsroad.

"Allow me to add to the congratulations, my lord" commented Zengi , Grey Worm's successor as Prefect of the Unsullied. A man from the Far East, he had reverted to his given name, on being set free. Daenery's forces and the Vale army had converged on Rodborough, a small town, just five miles from the capital. Over forty thousand men were camped in the vicinity. They were in the garden of the manse of the town's lord. Missandei, newly arrived from Dragonstone, joined them. Inwardly, Tyrion winced to see the scars she still bore from the fire. "My lords, you are summoned to a council of war by the Queen's Grace." 

"Of course" he replied, and the men entered the building, and made for the dining room. Already present were Daario, Rakharo, the commander of the Dothraki, Varys, Sansa, Arya, Lady Tyene, as well as several lords of the Crownlands. Daenerys entered last, saying "I apologise for keeping you all waiting." 

"A monarch is never late" commented Baelish. "We merely anticipated your Grace's arrival." Tyrion smiled at the sycophancy. Yes, indeed, the Lord of Sheepshit had come a very long way. Arguably, the most powerful person in the Seven Kingdoms, after the Queen, if she won her war. 

"To business" remarked the Queen. "I have made my will, and copies will be provided to each of you. I shan't bother you with details of bequests, but the main point is clear. I shall not appoint a successor, at this stage, as monarch. Many lords have the blood of my ancestors running through their veins, but none is more than a very distant cousin. When I die, House Targaryen becomes legally extinct. If I fall, it shall be for a Great Council to choose a successor. However, my choice as Protector of the Seven kingdoms is clear. The King in the North, Jon Snow, will take my place. The Princess Sansa has agreed to this, on his behalf." Tyrion looked around, seeing variously surprise, approval, anger, on the part of those present; and a very smug look of satisfaction on the part of Lord Baelish. 

"And your Eastern realms?" asked Varys. 

"It will be for the new monarch either to rule them, or to grant them their independence. I suspect he or she will opt for the latter." 

"What if the lords elected a monarch from a house that opposed you?" queried the eunuch. 

"Then that is their choice. They can choose Joanna Baratheon, should they wish." Tyene Martell rolled her eyes with exasperation. 

"A lady whose father will be sent to the Wall, and whose mother will be executed?" he remarked sceptically.

"She will be a ward of the Crown, until she is old enough to inherit the rule of the Stormlands. She can be taught to be loyal, and she will be betrothed to a man of my choosing" replied Daenerys, with an air of finality. "Now, let us turn to the siege of the city." 

"Your Grace, is a siege truly necessary? remarked Littlefinger. "With your dragons, you can end the war in an afternoon. Yes, I know innocents will die, but such is the way of war. If you place the city under siege, innocents will die as the food runs out. Believe me, the Tyrells will ensure that that they and their soldiers are fed, even if the people starve". 

"There are caches of wildfire in the city, your Grace" remarked Tyrion. "I discovered that when I stood siege, years ago. Kings Landing might become an inferno, if you resort to dragon fire." 

"Give them twenty four hours to surrender, or you set the city ablaze, your Grace" remarked Zengi. "If they fail to take that chance, their fate is on their heads". The arguments continued for some time, most of those present agreeing with the Unsullied commander. 

"I am grateful for your advice" remarked Daenerys. "Before deciding, do we know how many soldiers defend the city?" 

"My best estimate is slightly more than thirty thousands. I should add that people of the capital are staunch for Tommen and Margaery" replied the eunuch. 

"Not that far short of our own numbers, but they dare not face us in the field, because of my dragons. Good, we control the sea. Neither food nor men may reach the city by that means. We shall erect siegeworks to bottle up the enemy. We shall keep scouts and outriders in the Kingswood and on Blackwater Rush and the Kingsroad, to alert us of any reinforcements that may approach. My dragons will make short work of them. As you know, I have dispersed several detachments, and few will now want to run the gauntlet of flame. Lord Ronnett keeps the bulk of his army South, to oppose Princess Ellaria. I propose that we sap the city walls, and take the place by storm when we are ready. I can summon more soldiers from our garrisons, for that purpose. I am prepared to unleash dragon fire on the city if I must, but it will be a last resort. I have no desire to rule over ashes." 

"We must give them the option to surrender, at least" remarked Tyrion. "I think it unlikely that the Tyrells will wish to submit to the judgement of your Grace, but we must show that we tried. That is at least decent." 

"Agreed" remarked the Queen. The discussion focused on the details of the siege, before the noon meal was served to them. 

So, three days later, Tyrion a stood a couple of hundred yards away from the Lion Gate, guts churning. He was surrounded by a small party of knights, carrying white flags and green branches, as a sign of parley. The gate opened, and a party of Septons and Septas, walked towards him, led by a stern, bearded man wearing an elaborate crown. The new High Septon it must be. They halted a few yards apart. The man glared down at him, before speaking: 

"At last you come, returning to the city you polluted with your depravities, like a dog returning to its own vomit. Imp, traitor, fornicator. A man whose twisted appearance reveals the darkness of his foul soul." 

"I have come to parley" he replied, keeping his temper with difficulty. 

"Surrender unconditionally. That is the only offer I shall make you. You, the whore you serve, the Spider, the Wolf Bitch, her husband, your false High Septon, and the harlot of Dorne, will stand trial for all of your crimes against gods and men. The rest of you shall be pardoned. These are our terms. You may take them or leave them." 

"I had hoped you would be willing to spare your flock the horrors of a siege, ser. I can see that I have been wasting my time." He turned to go.

"Begone, foul imp" cried his High Holiness. "Heathen cobbold. Whoremonger, parricide, monster. Remember that the same judgement awaits you as your vile sister." 

"Burn this foul city to the ground, Daenerys" he thought as he walked away, his reserves of mercy quite used up.


	29. The First Stone

Arslan waited for his enemy to charge him, before making his move. The man was far stronger than he, but possessed none of his cunning. He ducked the blow, then crouched, and caught him around the waist, before using the man's own momentum to toss him over his shoulder. His opponent was stunned for a few moments, and he turned to look at him, a little concerned. But, when the man came round, he thumped the ground in submission, and the crowd cheered. Arslan was rarely defeated in the wrestling ring. He stepped forward, helping the man to his feet. 

"I think you used a trick," remarked his beaten opponent, Kemal, a member of his own regiment, the Lady of Battles. 

"Of course I did. I'll teach it to you, if you wish." The two men wandered off to the temporary bath-house that had been erected behind the siege lines. Arslan had just been made a Chosen Man, a year after being admitted to the ranks of the Unsullied. Like all of the more recent recruits, he kept his birth name. The tales of the cruelties that had been inflicted on the older men, when the soldiers had been slaves, were legendary. These days, the training regime was still a very hard one, so that men and boys died on occasion. But, the senseless carnage of Astapor was thankfully gone for good. Born in some one-horse village a hundred miles from Meereen, Arslan had jumped at the opportunity to join the corps, when their recruiting officer had come by. After two years as a trainee, he had received the traditional spiked cap from Grey Worm himself. The Unsullied were the elite, but that man had been a meteor among the warriors, his courage and skill beyond compare. Men spoke with awe of the victories he had won for the Dragon Queen over the slavers who had held his homeland captive. He shared the fury of the entire corps at his treacherous murder at parley, and burned with the rest to avenge him. Fortunately, Zengi was a worthy successor as Prefect. The man had sworn before his men, and before the Queen, that he would take the city by storm, or die in the attempt. 

He relaxed in the steam of the bath, chatting to his wrestling companion, and scraping off the oil he had poured on his skin, before the pair took a cold plunge. After dressing, they shared a pot of sweetened tea, before Arslan made his way to the regimental mess for the noon meal. It was a fish stew, plain but plentiful, like all his meals. As usual, he drank small ale. He was joined by two of his tent-companions, Osman and Brown Flea, an older man, who still carried his old slave name. The older man was a corporal. They talked about inconsequential matters, before the Brown Flea commented "Today's the day". 

"Meaning?" asked Osman. 

"Meaning we start chucking rocks at them. Want to go and watch?" They were all off-duty, and there was nothing better to do. They finished the meal, and rose to go and see. They walked over to get a view of the nearest trebuchet, called Evil Neighbour. Like the rest, it had been brought over in kit form, before being assembled on the spot. It was protected from the enemy's torsion artillery by earthworks and huge wicker shields, packed with soil. Several dozen soldiers had gathered, standing some yards behind the siege engine. He noticed they were a mix of Easterners and local men. There had been some fights between the various groups, but the commanders knew they had to work together, and a few exemplary hangings and scourgings had restored order. Besides, capable fighting men on the same side mostly respected each other. He watched, fascinated, as a pair of engineers, with spy glasses, scrutinised the city walls, and adjusted the length of the sling that would hurl the ball of stone towards the enemy. At last, they nodded and the long arm of the trebuchet was winched back. The huge counterweight was shaped in the form of a ravening dragon's head. One engineer gave an order, and four Unsullied rolled forward a huge stone ball, at least a hundred and fifty pounds in weight, which was fastened into the sling. At last, the moment they were waiting for. The engineer dropped his arm, the winch was released, and the arm of the great machine flew up, releasing the stone, which flew fast at the enemy. Only to vanish over the city wall! There was a groan of disappointment among the watching men, who turned away, seeking other amusements. Well, Arslan had taken part in other sieges. Not every shot told, but the bombardment would be relentless. Eventually, the walls would begin to crumble. He had never fought in a breach before. He hoped he would be a credit to his comrades.

Margaery Tyrell stood fascinated on the battlement, as she saw the tall arm of trebuchet fly up. Noble ladies of Westeros were not supposed to concern themselves about matters of war, but in practice, they found themselves provisioning armies, standing sieges, sometimes prosecuting whole campaigns, if their husbands or fathers were dead or captive. So, she had always taken the trouble to study military matters. The great ball of stone flew straight towards her. She realised there was little point in trying to evade it now. Oddly, she felt no fear. Either it would smear her across the parapet, or it would miss her. It missed her, but she felt the wind of it, as it flew over the battlement, and crashed through the roof of a warehouse beneath her. 

"Margaery, why not remove yourself to a place of safety' said her brother, Ser Garlan. 

"I have to show our subjects that I am unafraid. Besides, death in an instant is preferable to being burned alive or crucified, wouldn't you say, dear brother?" 

"Not that again!" he groaned. 

"Yes, that again, I'm afraid. Just, what were you thinking?" 

"We came that close" he held his finger and thumb a tiny distance apart. 

"There are no prizes for coming that close. You condemned me and my husband to death, as surely as if you signed our death warrants." 

"We have thousands of men, Margaery. Loyal men. And, the Smallfolk are behind us," 

"Can they defeat famine, sweet brother?" 

"We have stocks of food to last three months, much longer, if we cut rations for the useless mouths. The enemy will be dying of disease by then." 

"I hope you're right. But, Daenerys Targaryen has much experience of siegecraft. I fear we will be the ones dying first." 

"Always so negative, sister. " 

"Always so realistic, brother. Come, we have proved our courage, let us move to a safer post." They turned for the steps leading down from the parapet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I wanted to give the Unsullied a similar role and status to the Janissaries, so I have adopted Turkic names for some of them.
> 
> 2\. Chosen Man is the equivalent of Lance Corporal.
> 
> 3\. The Spiked Cap is awarded to an Unsullied on completing his training.
> 
> 4\. Trebuchets were frequently given names. Edward I had one called War Wolf. Evil Neighbour was a trebuchet at the siege of Acre. Counterweight trebuchets were the most potent form of artillery in the Middle Ages. The most powerful could hurl a stone or metal weight, of up to about 80 kg (176 pounds) up to three hundred yards. They were also used to hurl incendiaries and human corpses at the enemy.


	30. The Grip Tightens

The doleful cavalcade processed down the Street of Silk, the flagellants chanting hymns to the Seven, and lashing themselves continuously. Ser Garlan failed to see the point of such nonsense, but it seemed to impress the Smallfolk. He winced inwardly, at the sight of blood pouring down the backs of the chanting men and women. The High Septon had tried to persuade him to close the brothels in this district, but that seemed hardly calculated to improve morale. In truth, spirits were still high among his men and, so far as he could tell, among the populace, after a fortnight of siege. He had introduced rationing, prioritising the army, while limiting the food available for the useless mouths; but even among the latter, no one was starving so far. His own torsion weapons had taken a toll on the besiegers, but the enemy were relentless. Thousands of men had joined them, marching from the West, or disembarking from troop ships. Day after day, the rocks slammed into the city's walls, or into the houses and warehouses beyond. The barbican of the Old Gate was a particular source of concern; struck again and again, it was starting to crumble. He made his way to the Gate. He suspected that the enemy would be making their first assault on the city today. Thousands of his men were stationed in the vicinity, waiting to repel them. As he reached the top of the walls, he looked out. Trenches were zig-zagging towards the city's walls. Before long, the enemy would be trying to mine them.

Fuck it! The Dragon Bitch herself was watching the assault, behind the enemy lines. He saw her monster, towering over the enemy, a tiny figure perched on top of it. He knew she was reluctant to torch the city; thank the Gods that the homes of the Smallfolk pressed right up to the city walls. But she'd have no qualms about burning his men if he led them in a sortie against the enemy outside . The Gods damn that fool Jaime Lannister! Had he only had the wits to carry a dagger with him, he could have opened the woman's throat, and ended the war in one night! Well, there was a second chance. The man called the Hound of the Gods would slip into her camp, and hopefully finish the job the Kingslayer had botched. The High Septon had vouched for the man; a fanatical septon who he had employed to carry out murder on other occasions, he had granted him absolution, and assured him that he would join the blessed martyrs with the Seven, should he perish. He said that the man had no fear of death. Well, Ser Garlan did. If the city fell, he had no intention of falling into the hands of the Dragon Queen, and suffering the same fate as Lord Tarly. There were ways of escape, and if all else failed, he would take his own life.

The wall beneath his feet reverberated as another stone slammed into it. He fancied he heard an ominous groaning noise from below. It would only be a matter of time before the barbican collapsed. A great horn sounded from beyond the enemy lines, followed by the beat of a great bulls-hide drum. "Here they come" shouted one of his lieutenants. "Notch and draw". He saw the great wicker shields that protected the enemy moving forward steadily, protecting the men behind them. Over them, he caught sight of the tops of tall ladders, to be launched against the walls. The attackers broke into a jog-trot, steadily approaching, perhaps no more than a hundred paces now. "Loose' he ordered, and a storm of bolts swept towards the enemy. He heard the familiar click-whir-thump of a ballista, and saw the bolt punch a hole in the advancing line. The volleys seemed to be doing little damage, but he knew what would. "Wildfire" he yelled. Jets of green flame shot from siphons built into the walls, turning men into screaming charcoal within seconds. Great lines of fire crept up the wicker shields, which were cast aside by panicked men. Now the arrows of the defenders could really take a toll. Again and again, his archers lashed them, cutting down hundreds. He saw a mix of Crownlanders and Valemen among the attackers. Amazingly, they still came on, their fighting spirit undaunted; no doubt the chance to plunder the city was a powerful lure. Here and there, his own men were falling to their arrows and bolts, but there was no doubt who held the advantage. Let the dragon whore watch her men perish! Some of the attackers had actually reached the walls, and propped ladders against them, intending to assault. None reached the top. The defenders hurled down masonry, stones, iron balls, smashing them to pulp. He saw one of his soldiers dragged past him, an arrow through his eye. "Is it bad?" the man kept asking. Another man suddenly choked beside him, an arrow in his throat. Wearing the finest plate, his visor down, he knew that he was safe enough, and barely heeded the occasional bolt that struck him. Down at the foot of the walls, a bottle of oil burst among the attackers, wreathing them in flames. The scent of cooked meat reached his nostrils. Then, they broke. No soldiers could withstand such punishment. He was impressed that they had lasted as long as they had. The attackers raced for the safety of their own lines, men still falling to the bolts of the defenders. Hundreds lay dead or injured between the lines, many of them groaning. 

The men closest to Ser Garlan looked at him, expectantly. He knew what was required of him. "An excellent morning's work, men. Well done. Those fuckers won't attack again in a hurry." He handed the men silver stags in reward. In truth, he doubted that the attackers would come again soon. The Dragon Queen was simply testing the mettle of his soldiers. Now that they had proved their worth, she would resume the bombardment of the Walls, and wait until they were breached before making her true assault. As if to prove the truth of it, he saw another stone come flying over the wall, a hundred paces away, before it came crashing down among the houses beneath it. He descended the steps leading down from the barbican, and entered a house which had been made into a makeshift hospital. Both soldiers and civilians were lying there on straw mattresses, being tended by silent sisters and other nurses. In truth, most would die of their wounds, that was simply the way of war. He talked to those of the wounded who were conscious, thanking them for standing by the true king and queen in their hour of need. The true king and queen! The pair could barely stand him now, or his father or grandmother. He cursed inwardly. His family had been so close, but now they were riven. Had their ambitions destroyed them? Never particularly religious, he couldn't help but wonder if the Gods were punishing them all for the death of Loras.


	31. The Hound of the Gods

As night fell, the man known as the Hound of the Gods lowered himself into the Blackwater. The water was cool, but not cold. Nonetheless, he had taken care to grease his body, lest he freeze in the water. A pair of daggers, honed razor-sharp, were strapped to his waist, and he wore a tunic. Warmer clothes would be waiting at his destination. He had qualified as Septon, years ago, but had discovered that his true calling was to kill. But never for himself; only for the Gods. He was their chosen instrument. Over the years, he had taken the lives of heretics, blasphemers, fornicators, all those whom the Gods had deemed unworthy of life. Tonight, the Gods willing, he would take the life of the worst. He doubted if he would survive the attempt, but that mattered little. The High Septon himself had assured him of a place a mong the blessed martyrs. Slowly, he swam upstream, making little more noise than a fish, passing the lines of the besiegers. At last, he swam to the bank, and hauled himself up on the muddy shore. All was as his master had arranged. Inside a hollow willow tree, was a large basket, containing bread and ham, a flask of spirits, dry clothing, a pair of boots, and a vial of poison. He dried himself off, before donning the clothes and boots, and eating his meal. Finally, he drew out his daggers, coating them with the poison, before slipping them back into their sheaths. It was time. He returned to the river bank, and smeared his face and hands with mud to render himself less visible. It was a cloudy night, with little moonlight. Good, that would make his task easier. 

Daenerys laughed in Sansa's pavilion, as Arya told her of Septa Mordane getting drunk and passing out at her father's tourney. She was enjoying a flagon of wine with the Stark sisters and Lord Baelish before retiring to bed for the night. 

"A holy Septa getting drunk in public? Wasn't she disciplined by her order?" 

"Of course not, your Grace, " replied Littlefinger. "You can hardly expect them to obey their own rules. They just impose them on their flock. Why, Septa Mordane barely kept to her vows of chastity." 

"I should never have told you that, husband" chided Sansa. "Besides, she was never technically in breach of her vows." 

"Tell me more" said the Queen, amused. 

Sansa blushed before replying "She favoured her own sex. " 

"Isn't that considered a mortal sin? Outside Dorne of course. So, Lord Tyrion has told me." 

"Well, the Faith condemns unchastity among women. But, by unchastity, they mean coupling with a man other than one's husband. The Seven Pointed Star has much to say about men who couple with other men, none of it good, but nothing at all to say about women who prefer their own sex. It's hardly a secret that there are holy Septas who ....cherish one another. The Most Devout may not approve it, but they rarely condemn it. " 

"There is no risk of a bastard, and therefore no risk of scandal" commented Baelish smoothly. "Better this, than they breach their vows with a man. It's the Septons I feel sorry for. Whichever sex they favour, they'll be in breach of their vows. Not that it stops them, of course."

"Just when I thought I was getting to know this realm, I realise I know nothing at all" remarked the Queen, dryly. "Still, I'm in no position to criticise others for unchastity". Littlefinger looked at her enquiringly. "A story for another day, once we've taken Kings Landing. I'm going to sleep now." She said good night, and went out into the night, accompanied by her bodyguards.

The assassin crouched in the ditch that had been dug around the camp, observing the two guards above him, intently. They were bored, lazy, and, he suspected, rather drunk. Good. They were meant to be guarding one of the entrances, but were plainly just waiting to be relieved. He crept up the side of the ditch, making no noise, then pulling himself onto the small bridge that led into the camp. By the time the first guard sensed something was amiss it was too late. The assassin swiftly grasped the man's head, and sliced his throat, cutting off his cry. There was a sudden stench as the man voided his bowels. The other guard turned in puzzlement, only for the assassin to drive his blade into the man's heart, who likewise fell without a cry. He smiled. The Gods were with him to night. He dragged each body to the side of the bridge, before toppling them into the ditch. Stealthily, he made his way forward into the camp, slipping from tent to tent in search of his prey. The Dragon Queen had been very foolish to show to the world where her pavilion was located. From the battlements of the city, they could all see the the banner of the triple-headed dragon, fluttering above it. Well, tonight, she would pay for her folly. At last, he reached his destination. He stared at the pavilion intently. There was a single guard on duty. Foolishness piled upon stupidity. A single guard to protect a Queen! He glided over soundlessly, and lunged as the man looked up at him, taking him through the eye. He held him as he slumped to the ground, and then he entered the pavilion. In the blackness within, he could hear the breaths of a woman in deep sleep. Stealthily, he reached the sleeping figure, and crouched down by the bed. He pressed one hand down on the sleeper's mouth, and with the other, brought the knife down hard, repeatedly. A sudden moan was cut off, and the jerking body fell still. In the blackness, he could not see the Queen's face, but he must be certain. He struck a quick spark from a flint, and cursed. This was not the Queen! He guessed it must be her little whore, the Naathi girl she had bought in Astapor. Of course, she would share the Queen's bed. He shuddered inwardly, as he imagined the unnatural acts that the pair must have practised together. Damn her! He got up, and left the tent, slipping back into the darkness. 

Varys had encountered the Queen as she returned from Sansa's pavilion. There were matters he wished to discuss with her, relating to the siege. They talked as they walked. She had been drinking wine, but not enough to impair her judgement, and then he hissed, "Halt. Guard the Queen!" He had smelled it. Spilt blood. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man springing out of the shadows, at Daenerys. Fortunately, one bodyguard blocked the man's blow, while another prepared to finish him. Quick as a snake, Varys darted low with his own dagger, slicing the hamstring behind the assassin's left knee. As the man slumped he shrieked "Keep him alive. He must be questioned!' Varys kept his knee firmly in the small of the man's back, as he was trussed, the guards giving him several kicks for good measure. The man snarled and cursed, warning them of the judgement of the Gods. Well, he'd be singing a different tune, quite shortly. Few men were as skilled as Varys, at extracting information from unwilling subjects. His thoughts were interrupted by an unholy shriek from within the tent. He rushed in to find Daenerys cradling a dead body on a bed. Oh Gods, Missandei! The Queen loved her like a sister! She keened and screamed, as more people crowded into the pavilion, Tyrion, Zengi, Arya, and Rakharo among others. The Queen ignored them as she sobbed, for over an hour. At last she raised her head from the body, and turned to them. 

"How many prisoners are we holding in this camp?" she hissed. 

"Perhaps two hundred" Zengi replied. 

"Then I want them returned to their friends in Kings Landing. By trebuchet. In pieces."


	32. A Sharp Questioning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains a graphic torture scene.

Arslan woke with a start, hearing an uproar in the centre of the camp, and ran towards the noise, along with Osman. They had woken at the same time. He heard a keen wailing from the Royal pavilion, and dreaded the worst. Suddenly, Zengi emerged and spotted the pair of them. "Follow me" commanded the Prefect. He led them a short distance to a separate tent. "Wait here" he said, before leaving them. After half an hour, a party entered, led by Zengi, dragging a bound man along with them. Another man entered, who he recognised as Lord Varys, the Master of Whisperers. The Prefect nodded to Arslan and his tent mate. "Cut off his clothes, then tie him to the chair. " He nodded to a heavy wooden seat. They hastened to obey. Lord Varys spoke calmly to the pair. "This man attempted to murder the Queen's Grace; he did murder her closest friend, Lady Missandei." Arslan felt a wave of hatred for the man. He deserved whatever was coming to him. "You may go" said Varys to the others, who filed out.

"You will learn nothing from me, Spider" muttered the naked prisoner. 

Varys sighed. "Why make this difficult for yourself? How often have I heard those words uttered? How often have I heard the man who uttered them screaming his confession? " Varys suddenly glanced at him. "What is your name, soldier?"

"Arslan" he replied. 

"Very well, Arslan, I require a brazier, a sack of charcoal, some kindling, and a pair of pokers".

"Do you think you frighten me, eunuch?" muttered the prisoner.

"Do I think I frighten you? You are in the power of four men who mean you nothing but harm. Yes, I think I frighten you." Arslan left, before hearing the rest of the exchange. He found the items easily enough, before returning to the tent. "Good" commented Lord Varys. "Place the brazier between us, and light the kindling. I want the irons to be well-heated, before we begin." He smiled at the prisoner, chilling, hideous. Arslan dreaded the thought of being in this man's power. After a few minutes, Varys said, "Now, I think it's only fair that I should explain how this will work. I will ask you a question, and you will give me the answer. Refuse, or lie to me, and this excellent young man will apply a poker to whichever part of your body I want him to. "

"The Gods are with me" the man snarled back. 

"The Gods? " Varys laughed. "The four of us are your Gods, now. Give me your name. That's easy enough, isn't it?" 

"Go to the Seven Hells, woman!" Varys sighed, before commanding Arslan. "The right nipple. Grind it in." Arslan did so, as the prisoner screamed. Arslan smelled an odour similar that of roasted pork. For a moment, he wanted to retch. "Does this trouble you, Arslan?" asked the eunuch. "I can get another to take your place." To be honest, it did somewhat. But, he would never admit it. "Not in the least, my lord" he replied. He replaced the poker in the brazier. 

"What is your name?" repeated Varys.

" Fuck you!" 

"I doubt it" replied the eunuch. "The scrotum, Arslan, but gently". The man screeched as the hot iron was applied.

"Crabbe, Robyn Crabbe" he gasped out. 

"There now, that wasn't difficult, was it? But are you telling the truth, that's the question." This time Varys picked up the poker. "This requires a more delicate touch" he explained to Arslan who saw real fear in the prisoner's face, for the first time. Gently, very gently, Varys applied the end of the poker to the man's left eye socket as Zengi held his head still. The eye sizzled and burst as the man howled.

"Robyn Crabbe, it's the truth!" he screamed. And so it went on, for the best part of two hours, so far as Arslan could tell, as Varys relentlessly questioned the man, and they burned him. By the end, Crabbe scarcely resembled a human being. Both eyes and one ear were gone, his prick and balls were nothing but melted flesh, and most of his face was burned away. A stench of shit mingled with that of burned flesh, as the man had lost control of his bowels towards the end. Yet, he still lived, breathing hoarsely.

"Are you satisfied he has told us all that he knows?" Varys asked Zengi. 

"Quite satisfied. Do you want me to make an end?' asked the Prefect, pointing to his dagger. 

"I think first, I must speak to the Queen's Grace. She may wish to hear his confession, in person". Varys left the tent. 

"Arslan, you're a Chosen Man aren't you?" remarked Zengi. 

"Yes, my lord." 

"Well, you've shown you've got the stomach of a warrior, tonight. I'm promoting you to Corporal. You can take his place as Chosen Man, Osman." They both thanked their commander. A short while later, guards filed into the tent, followed by Varys and the Queen. Arslan and Osman both bowed low to her. She stared down at the tortured man, her gaze like that of a basilisk. Zengi flung a pale of water into the man's face, causing him to splutter back into consciousness. "Speak before the Queen, reptile" he commanded.

He drew a long, shuddering, breath. "Your Grace, my name is Robyn Crabbe, I am a Septon. I attempted to murder your Grace tonight....." 

"Continue, scum" commanded the Prefect. 

"I murdered three guards and the Lady Missandei, your Grace. I...I was commanded to murder you by the High Septon himself. And, Lady Olenna Tyrell. Oh Gods, put an end to this pain!" 

"Did anyone in this camp assist you?" asked the Queen. 

"No, your Grace. Septon Hawe, who ministers to Hayford, left food, clothing, poison, and other items, for me, in a tree by the river. But, no one here gave me help." 

"Your Grace, rest assured we have questioned him thoroughly on these points. Men have been sent to arrest Hawe. He will be put to the question in turn." 

"Then, keep this creature alive until Hawe has been taken. We need to see if their stories match. Afterwards....." Arslan saw the Queen draw her finger across her throat. She turned and left the tent, with her guards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While hideous, it should be noted that the use of torture would be almost universally considered a legitimate and effective means of obtaining information in this world. Daenerys is frequently condemned for resorting to torture against suspected insurgents in Meereen, in book canon; yet, Jon Snow, Stannis, Tyrion, Prince Doran, the Brotherhood without Banners, Jaime, Qorin Halfhand, Mance Rayder, Lord Manderly, every Master or Mistress of Whisperers, all employ torture. The bad guys are the ones who torture for fun.


	33. The Wages of Treason

Arya saw the Queen emerge from the tent where the assassin had been screaming his confession for the past two hours. "Your Grace, you should not sleep alone, I think. " Daenerys stared at her vacantly, before nodding and taking her hand. Arya led her to Sansa's pavilion. Her sister and Lord Baelish emerged from their own chamber, and instructed servants quickly to make up a bed for the pair of them. As she watched the Queen undress, Arya realised just how frail she had become. Always slim, she now looked almost childlike. Her injury, and the stress of the campaign, had taken their toll. She handed her a goblet of wine, laced with sweetsleep, which she drained in one draft. Then they climbed into bed together. Both fell rapidly asleep.

Arya woke first, relieved to see that the Queen was still asleep, and slipped out into the light. There was quite a commotion. A man was being led through the camp, badly bruised, tied to the back of a horse, surrounded by Dothraki riders. He wore a septon's robe, now filthy. Daario and Varys appeared on the scene. "Excellent work" remarked the eunuch. " I presume this is the miscreant?" Mago, leading the Dothraki, grinned and nodded, before replying "He's hiding nearby. No doubt, he wants to hear Khaleesi is murdered. Now he hears, his balls cut off". The Dothraki crowed with laughter. "Welcome traitor," he addressed the man. "We have spent the night interrogating your colleague. Come and join him. We have questions to put to you, and men who are skilled at extracting answers. " "I am a holy man!" he shouted "My person is sacrosanct". There were hoots of derision from those present. A Dothraki cut the man loose, and pushed him off the back of the horse. They dragged him away to the tent, followed by Varys, and before long, his screams could be heard across the camp. She felt no pity for him, returning to the pavilion, where the Queen had just woken up, with a servant offering her sweetmeats. 

"I'll never forgive myself" said Daenerys sadly. "I ought to have had her properly guarded at all times. A woman I loved as my sister, and I let her down." She said nothing more, crying gently as Arya held her tight. At last, the crying subsided, and Daenerys commented "I must go and see her. " It was now early afternoon. They emerged to find what remained of the two murderous septons fastened to a pair of crosses, on Daario's orders. They were barely alive now, moaning in delirium. "Place the crosses in a cart, with a pair of oxen" commanded the sellsword, " and drive them to the city". Daenerys gave a nod of approval, and the order was swiftly carried out. "The prisoners?" enquired Daario. "Behead them, then quarter them" commanded the Queen. "Then hurl the pieces over the walls". "It shall be Madam, as you command". They walked to the pavilion where Missandei's body still lay. It was decently wrapped in a shroud, and guarded by attendants. Daenerys bowed her head sighing. Arya took her hand again. She remained silent, for perhaps half an hour. Arya heard shouts of anger and outrage from outside, as the prisoners met their fate, but Daenerys paid no heed. A young tribune of the Unsullied joined them. Daenerys walked over to embrace him. "I have no words, Marsalen." The man sobbed for a time, then recovered. 

"She dwells with the Lord of Harmony, now, your Grace. As does my brother." 

"Will you organise her funeral, according to the rites of your people?" 

"Of course, your Grace. " He fell silent for a time, before saying "I know that you will avenge her. I will avenge her too." He left them. 

"Marsalen is Missandei's brother, Arya. They were all taken together as slaves. They lost a brother in training." Arya felt her eyes start with tears. She knew what it was to lose a brother.

A short while later, Margaery stared with dismay at the sight before her. The square behind the Old Gate resembled a charnel house. It was littered with heads and limbs, and spattered with blood. Two hideously mutilated men were having nails removed from their arms and legs, as they were taken from their crosses. They stirred feebly, but it was plain they were on the point of death. Judging by their condition, death would certainly be a mercy. "Your Grace, she has spent her life coupling with savages, and has adopted their ways. She mocks the Faith, and slaughters our holy men. She follows heathen gods." The High Septon was plainly outraged. 

"These Godly men tried to murder her, I believe" she remarked drily. She had discovered the truth from her father. 

"And that is a Godly task, your Grace. Your husband is the anointed of the Seven. He is the Defender of the Faith. It is no sin to slay a heathen traitor. Nay, it is a duty. These men will earn a place among the blessed martyrs."

Mace Tyrell joined them. "Your High Holiness, there are no words to describe this evil. You are right. She serves the Lord of the Seven Hells." 

"There are worse Powers even than he" remarked the High Septon. "The Black Goat of Qohor. The Rider God of the Dothraki. R'hllor, the Demon who is worshipped across the East. They have brought her army to the gates of this city. A woman sitting the Iron Throne, in service to such Powers? I can think of nothing worse!" 

"Yet, Hallayne serves her, one of the Most Devout!" cried Mace. 

"A false brother, my Lord. The Powers of Evil are subtle. They challenge us from without, yet they corrupt us from within. Know that there are Septons and Septas who present a mask of holiness to the world, yet are in service to the infernal Powers". She saw her father shudder. Could he not see that this man was a fanatic? "My lord, grant me the task of rooting out the traitors and heretics. Let me consign them to the flames. The Gods will welcome the scent of their burning." 

"Of course, Holiness. Destroy them!" 

"Your High Holiness" cried Margaery. "My father has no authority to order such a thing!" 

"Be silent, your Grace!" he shouted. "It is not a woman's place to dispute her lord father, any more than it is her place to challenge her lord husband! You fail to know your place. Your husband is not yet of age, and so the realm must be governed by your father, and your brother. And yes, your grandmother is a woman, but she pays due respect to the Gods. She is a woman who knows her place, and she is humble. Her advice is good. Learn from her! Submit to your father and your brother!" He glared at her.

Disaster piled upon disaster! Ignoring her father's spluttered outrage, Margaery turned her back on them both, and stalked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the books, Marsalen is a senior office among the Unsullied, and Missandei's brother. Another brother died, during training to be an Unsullied.


	34. By Sword and Fire

Tommen waited the assault with his men. His wife, her father, the High Septon had all begged him not to risk himself. Yet, he had asserted himself. He would not let his men do what he refused to do. A barricade had been assembled, some yards behind the ruins of the Old Gate. The Barbican had collapsed a week previously, and the adjoining walls had been mined and bombarded to rubble. There was a light drizzle in the morning air, and behind him, the banners of lion, rose, and stag hung limply. Thousands of men were stationed in the district to repel the assault. The Pale Mare had begun to gallop through both the city and the camps of the besiegers, and both sides wished to force the issue. Yet, even if they won, what then? Would the Dragon Queen refrain from unleashing fire from the air? She could win the war within hours, he knew, simply by turning her dragons loose on the population. They had gambled that she would refuse to do so, and so far, that gamble had paid off. Quite ruthlessly, his family had used the people of Kings Landing as a shield. But, what if she was losing? Would they remain a shield? And, did they even deserve to remain unharmed. Whipped into a frenzy by the High Septon and his followers, armed mobs had dragged suspected traitors to the flames of the Faith, during the past fortnight. Margaery's view was that they were just picking on anyone whose goods or women they wanted. It was pathetic! He was king and Margaery was queen, and the pair of them were virtually powerless. Beyond the breach, he heard the kettle drums of the Unsullied beating out their tatoo. The soldier-fanatics of the Dragon Queen would lead the assault.

In her tent, Daenerys prayed to the old Gods and the new, to the Rider God of the Dothraki, to the Lord of Light, and the Lord of Harmony. She prayed that her soldiers would carry the breach, and that she would not have to reduce the city to ashes . Disease had taken hold in her army, as it always did during a siege. Yet, there were horrible rumours from the city, of plague among the population, and frenzied murder, led by the High Septon. He, at least, merited a terrible death. Seven Thousand Unsullied would lead the assault, backed up by more than twenty five thousand from the Crownlands, Vale, and East. For once, the Dothraki would fight on foot. Their horses would be useless in a city, unless the defenders broke and fled. Yara Greyjoy was leading an assault on the Mud Gate, from the docks, but that was simply a feint, designed to draw off men from the Old Gate. This would be the main assault. She had agreed to the protestations of her commanders and advisors; if the assault failed, it was time to unleash dragonfire on the defenders; even Tyrion did not demur. But, if she did, she would go down in history as worse than Maegor, worse even than her father. So be it, if that was the price of victory.

Arslan waited for the moment. Thank the Gods, he was not a part of the forlorn hope, the first wave of soldiers who would bear the brunt of the defenders' fire. There were five hundred of them, all promised rich reward if they survived, to be paid to their families if they died. Zengi, the Prefect, would be among them. He himself led the fourth file from the front of his regiment, the Lady of Battles. He stared intently at the defenders, three hundred yards away. The walls might have been breached, but the rubble would still make a formidable obstacle. The front ranks carried pavisses, large wicker shields which will provide some protection from the enemy's bolts. He guessed they would have to run the gauntlet of fire as well. Behind the Unsullied were massed hundreds of archers, who would keep up a brisk fire on the defenders, over their heads as they raced towards the breach. Their own ballistae would also pour rocks and bolts into the enemy. He was no stranger to battle and siege, but his heart was in his mouth as he waited for the signal. This would be a fight like no other. At last, he heard a shrill whistle, and the advance began. First a brisk walk, then a jog trot, and then the gates of hell were opened to him. 

Yara felt a surge of joy, as her men swept towards the Mud Gate. They had taken the docks and the Fishmarket, two days previously, and readied themselves for the assault. She knew her attack was intended just as a feint, but she would storm this gate if she could. Her men dreamed of the great spoils the city would provide. Enough for each one of them to be rich for the rest of their lives. The inhabitants had defied the besiegers. They would pay the iron price for victory. She was in the middle of her army, as they raced up to the Mud Gate, some of the men bearing ladders, while in the middle, a turtle protected a great ram, to breach the gate. Scores of her men fell to the bolts and darts of the enemy, but now they had reached the walls. She saw ladders flung against the walls, and her men raced up them. Many were cast down, as the defenders hurled rocks and iron bars at them. "After me, your Grace" screamed Ser Tristifer Botley, as they reached the foot of the walls and began the climb, holding their shields above them. She felt her arm grow numb, as something bounced off her shield. She cursed as a bolt pierced her right shoulder, but she managed to keep climbing. By a miracle, she reached the top of the wall, and leapt on to the parapet, to see Ser Tristifer and the others, laying about them manfully. A screaming, bearded maniac, mouth full of rotten teeth, swung an axe at her head, which she ducked, before giving him a quick shove that toppled him from the parapet. More of her men were swarming up the wall, overwhelming the defenders. She heard a cheer from below, as her men lifted the bars of the Mud Gate, and more soldiers flooded through. 

She looked back from the top of the wall, and her heart sank. "Oh. Fuck. Me." she muttered. Hundreds of the enemy were tearing through the Fishmarket, to take her men in the flank. They must have come out of postern gates or tunnels under the walls. She was the one who had fallen for the enemy's feint. 

"Hell on earth" thought Arslan as he jogged forward. Men were falling all around him, as he ran, going down to the bolts and rocks of the defenders. He winced, as he saw Osman fall to an arrow in his throat. Amazingly, he was unharmed, less than fifty yards from the breach. He dodged the man in front, screaming hideously, as he was caught in a spray of liquid fire, and turned into a living torch. A violent blow to his helm left him seeing stars, even as he forced his legs forward. Life in a one-horse village, a hundred miles from Meereen, mightn't be so bad, he thought, as his head gradually cleared. He reached the breach, clambering over the rubble with the other survivors of the attack. One man vaulted up onto the barricade that the defenders had built, only to have his legs chopped from under him. Another, and another. Men sprang up all along the barricade, being cut down again and again, but some made it to the other side. He braced himself, and clambered to the top, expecting a pike through the guts, but he somehow made it down to the other side, after all. There was no skill in this type of fight, simply unrestrained savagery. One defender aimed a vicious blow at this head, with an axe, which he ducked, driving his spear through the man's midriff. A sword struck him hard on his left shoulder, but his armour held. He turned to fight the swordsman. A young man, it seemed, encased in gilded armour. 

Tommen confronted the Unsullied, swinging his sword at his head, his own visor open for the sake of visibility. The man was fast as a snake, taking the blow on the blade of his spear. Then the man was on him, his spear jabbing at him constantly. Where the hell were his bodyguards, he wondered, knowing it would be fatal to look around for them. He gave ground, desperately parrying his opponent's spear, only to trip backwards over a dead body. Looking up, the last thing he saw was the great blade scything down at his face. And, so perished Tommen Baratheon, first of his name, as the Unsullied carried the war into the City of Cities.

Daenerys sighed with relief, as she saw her soldiers carry the breach. No doubt they would sack the city, regardless of orders, but that was normal practice when a stronghold was taken by storm. The Unsullied would restore order before the population suffered too badly. At least there was no need to unleash dragonfire on the inhabitants. That horror would be spared them at least. 

As it turned out, she was wrong about that.


	35. Kill Them All

Zengi still lived. The man clapped Arslan on the back, as he roared with laughter. "Well, well, what's it like to be a kingslayer?"

"What do you mean, my lord?" 

"You've just slain Tommen the usurper. " Arslan looked down, appalled. "My lord, if I had known......" 

"There's no need to apologise. You'll get another promotion for this. Take his body to the Queen" he commanded a pair of his men, who dragged the corpse away with him. "Now, back to the fight!" Arslan identified the survivors of his file, and led them up the Street of Silk, towards Rhaenys' Hill. But before long, he and the others made an unpleasant discovery. The enemy were not breaking, and worse still, the inhabitants were joining in the fight. A howling septon swung a cleaver at him, which he parried easily before Brown Flea drove his spear through the man's belly. A tile smashed on the ground, to his right, one of the shards flying up to gash his cheek. Tiles were raining down in earnest, now, hurled by civilians from rooftops. A Dothraki screamed as a falling chimney pot stove in his head. "Turtle" screamed a centurion, and the Unsullied bunched close together, holding their shields above their heads, as the tiles rained down on them. A quick glance showed that other soldiers were following their example. "If civilians want to start a fight, we'll finish it" said the centurion grimly. "Follow me. " The man kicked down the door of building, Arslan and several others following. A woman lunged at him with a long skewer, which the centurion dodged, before opening her throat with his own sword. In the kitchen, he found what he was looking for; two bottles of oil. He emptied the oil over wooden furniture, and then struck a tinder. The furniture went up in flames with a whoosh! "We do this to every building where there's resistance" said the man. As they ran back into the street, the ground floor was already ablaze, and the people on the roof were screaming in dismay. Working methodically, they set half a dozen buildings ablaze, and now sparks and flames leapt from house to house, as people shrieked in horror. Yet, still the fighting went on through the morning. They could kill half a dozen civilians for every man they lost, and still get the worst of it. By noon, they had only reached the foot of Rhaenys' hill. Darts and arrows from the enemy, barricaded there, whined and skipped among them. 

"We are losing too many good men", Daario stated baldly to Daenerys. "The enemy are barricaded on Rhaenys' Hill. The people of the city are joining in the fight against us. " He had returned from the fray to report to her in person. She could see that for herself. Standing a couple of hundred yards outside the city, with Drogon by her side, she watched as a steady flow of wounded soldiers streamed back out of the ruins of the Old Gate. Some of them collapsed before reaching her; she saw one poor man crying at the loss of his eyes, as a less-wounded comrade supported him. "Your Grace, I don't think we have the numbers to fight the Tyrell soldiers, and the entire population as well. We could lose this fight. Fucker!" He aimed a savage kick at Tommen's corpse, which had been brought to the Queen.

Her stomach clenched. She realised that she had underestimated the Tyrells yet again. They would fight her in the streets and slums of the city, and to the seven hells with the civilian population. They knew of her reluctance to unleash dragonfire on the population. So, they and her soldiers had taken refuge among that population. Worse, they and the High Septon had whipped them up in a frenzy of hatred for her. Doubt gnawed at Daenerys. Lose today, and there was every chance of losing the war. Many lords would switch sides against her. "Your Grace" she looked up to see one of the Ironborn, addressing her. "Queen Yara. She's trapped with her men on Fishmongers' Square. I think they could be destroyed."

"Daario, pull the soldiers back from Rhaenys' Hill. " She felt sick, knowing what she was about to do. "You have no choice" murmured Arya sadly, standing next to her. "You've tried everything you can to avoid this. " After giving time for Daario to return to the city, she mounted Drogon, fastening the chains that would secure her to the great beast, and then took flight. She flew fast over the city walls, and then on towards Rhaenys' Hill. Looking down, she saw the great shadow of the dragon looming over the city, as people fled in all directions. A stray arrow bounced off her shoulder, lacking any force, as she dived. She saw hundreds scattering below her, hearing their terrified screams as she swept towards her target, a row of wooden warehouses, in which the Tyrell soldiers had barricaded themselves. "Dracarys" she cried, and fire leapt from the dragon's jaws, engulfing the warehouses in flames. Systematically, she criss-crossed the streets of the Hill, burning houses, shops, stores, septs, and workshops. Most of the buildings were wooden, and went up like torches. She felt, before she heard, a dreadful explosion below her, and watched in awe as a warehouse was engulfed in green flame. Damn! Tyrion had been right. There was wildfire within the city. The flames raced out in all directions, consuming every building in their path. She shut her ears to the screams and cries of the people below, as the district died. A few arrows flew in her direction, but they were no threat. As easy to stop the Blackwater in full flow as to escape the Dragon's justice. Leaving Rhaenys' Hill ablaze behind her, she burned a swathe across the city, as she headed for Fishmongers Square, to rescue Yara and her Ironborn. 

"Is this what hell looks like"? thought Sansa, as she stared up at Rhaenys' Hill. She wore plate, designed for a woman, accompanying her husband, and a detachment of Vale knights. The city had resembled a butcher's shambles, as they walked its wynds and lanes. Bodies, and parts of bodies littered the blood-stained streets, and buildings were smouldering all around her. She felt nauseous, her breath coming in short gasps. For once, even Lord Baelish looked shocked, as they encountered a group of badly wounded Vale soldiers. "My dear, please see what you can do for them" he asked. She examined the soldiers, guarded by a group of knights, offering what comfort she could to them, but really it was hopeless. They were too badly injured to survive. She stood, and looked up again at Rhaenys' Hill. The district was engulfed in green and orange flames, reaching hundreds of feet into the sky. Smoke roiled across her sight, and ashes drifted down, remnants of burnt wood and human flesh. She coughed and choked on the reek, eyes smarting. She felt the sour taste of bile at the back of her throat. It was an effort not to vomit. Even from this distance, she could feel the intense heat of the firestorm. A great wind was building, as the fire sucked in air, driving the flames ever higher. Yohn Royce's son, Lord Andar, approached her. "With all due respect your Highness, this is no place for a lady. You should leave." She ignored him, feeling dazed as a wild keening came from the burning buildings ahead of them, as soldiers and civilians alike died in the fires . But, bad as things were, they were about to get a great deal worse. Thousands of people fled down the lower slopes of the hill towards them, trying to outrun the flames. Sansa stared at them, shocked, dazed, barely comprehending. . She no longer saw men, women, children. In her mind's eye, she saw a mob, cheering and jeering at her father, pelting him with filth, before his head was hacked off; she saw a rabble laughing as a young girl had her dress torn off by men intent on raping and killing her. She saw Mother, and Robb and Robb's wife, butchered like cattle. All her people, Jeyne Poole, Jory Cassel, Septa Mordane, the others, all slain. She saw the waiting ranks of the Valemen, awaiting orders. She wept, and she laughed, and she keened, and in a voice she hardly recognised as her own, she screamed aloud "Kill them all. The Gods can take care of their own!" 

And, so the slaughter began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Turtle is essentially, the Roman testudo (tortoise) formation.
> 
> 2\. Sansa's life has basically been a trauma conga line. This is where she has a complete psychological breakdown. "Kill them All. God will take care of his own" was the order allegedly given by Amalric, when the Catholic crusaders stormed Beziers.


	36. Till In Her Ashes She Lie Buried

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Defy us to our worst. For, as I am a soldier,  
> A name that in my thoughts becomes me best,  
> If I begin the batt'ry once again,  
> I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur  
> Till in her ashes she lie burièd.
> 
> The gates of mercy shall be all shut up,  
> And the fleshed soldier, rough and hard of heart,  
> In liberty of bloody hand, shall range  
> With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass  
> Your fresh fair virgins and your flow'ring infants.
> 
> What is it then to me if impious war,  
> Arrayed in flames like to the prince of fiends,  
> Do with his smirched complexion all fell feats  
> Enlinked to waste and desolation?  
> What is ’t to me, when you yourselves are cause,
> 
> If your pure maidens fall into the hand  
> Of hot and forcing violation?  
> What rein can hold licentious wickedness  
> When down the hill he holds his fierce career?  
> We may as bootless spend our vain command
> 
> Upon th' enragèd soldiers in their spoil  
> As send precepts to the Leviathan"
> 
> Henry V, Act 3, Scene 3.

Arslan heard the cry of the proud woman with hair of beaten copper. There was a roar of anger, right across the line of waiting soldiers. Dothraki drew their bows and started to shoot into the oncoming crowd, loosing volleys that cut down scores of screaming men, women and children. As the first of the crowd reached them, Arslan drove his spear into the face of a screaming woman, and the soldiers surged forward, Unsullied, Dothraki, Crownlanders, Valemen, all of them drawing swords and axes, wielding spears and arakhs, hacking, thrusting, slashing. This was what they'd been waiting for! They roared as they cut the enemy down, soldiers wading in on across the line. Even the Tyrell soldiers among the fleeing people made no effort to fight back, such was their panic. It was the easiest fight they'd ever had! Arslan glanced right and left. His comrades were drenched from head to foot in blood. He felt no remorse. These animals had taken their own toll of his men. Let them now feel their fury in response! "Leave none alive, slay them, slay them" he heard the woman screaming, but they needed no encouragement. Later, when the madness passed, he would take an honourable discharge from the army, return to his one-horse village to farm, and try to forget what he had witnessed that day; the bodies hewn into pieces; the woman whose throat was slashed across, before her infant was hurled through the doorway of a burning building; the rapes, the arson, the murders. He survived to his eightieth year, dying respected by his neighbours, one of the elite who had fought for the Dragon Queen. Long dead, by then, she would be a figure of legend, worshipped as a Goddess across the East. 

The enemy were broken. Daenerys was sure of that. She saw the centre of the city burn beneath her, as she flew towards Fishmongers Squre. Again and again, green fires exploded, as caches of wildfire ignited. Another crime to lay at the feet of her father. A crime to lay at her own feet, even. She flew down River Row, towards Fishmongers Square, seeing the Kraken banners of the Ironborn. The enemy surrounded them on all sides, though men were starting to point at her, screaming. Many of them broke for cover. She flew across the square, and on towards Visenya's Hill. At little more than roof height, Drogon turned the road into a river of fire, men literally melting in his breath, as they were swallowed up in cobbles turned to red lava. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of the enemy perished as they fled. She tapped Drogon with his whip, and she turned back towards the Square. The fighting had ended. Ironborn and Tyrells were in a desperate panic, fleeing in all directions, but most through the Mud Gate. Let them! She had no desire to burn her own men, even if she killed the enemy as well. Looking up, she saw the Red Keep, looming before her - the prize she had dreamed of all her life, and drove her great beast towards it.

Lady Olenna knew this was the end. She was trapped in the manse she had taken in the city centre. She could hear the roar of the flames as they approached from all sides. She had prodded the Dragon, she knew, past the point of endurance. She had no regrets. She had come so close to winning. First the unspeakable Joffrey, then Cersei, then Yohn Royce had fallen to her. She had done what she must, and there was no shame in losing the Game of Thrones. She had always known there was no middle way between victory and death. So be it. She poured herself a goblet of wine, and took a long draft, savouring its taste for the last time. Then she sat down in her favourite armchair, and drew her dagger, smartly cutting each of her wrists. Unknown to her, her son was fastening a noose around his neck, at this point, a quarter of a mile away, ready to jump. 

Sansa came to her senses, staring with horror at what she had commanded. She howled and moaned, even as her husband took her in his arms, comforting her and murmuring endearments. "Kill me, I'm a monster!" she commanded. "Never. You have done nothing that any other leader would not do" he replied, gently. "Can't you see what's happening?" she screamed. "Mother, Father, Robb, Rickon, they would hate me! How can I tell my brother or sister about this?""Sister, it's alright. You're not a monster". She had no idea that Arya had joined them. Petyr relinquished her, Arya took her in her arms, stroking her hair, while she sobbed. After a time, Arya led her back the way she had come, towards the gate to the city.

"You're a real catch", said the bodyguard, as he smirked. Margaery, cousin Elinore, and Joanna were trapped, even as they fled the flames. Her own men, half a dozen of them, had their swords drawn, grinning. "Brave men indeed, to break your oaths, to threaten two young women and a babe!" she replied. "Go on then, make an end!". 

"Oh no. You're all worth so much more to us alive than dead" said the leader, grinning. "We'll take you to the Dragon Queen. I think she'll have....very special plans in mind for the three of you. And, very special rewards in mind for all of us. " His comrades crowed with laughter. "Perhaps, she'll let us enjoy you, before the end. " They sniggered again.

Daenerys landed, before the Great Hall of the Red Keep. The very location of the Iron Throne. Her own men were surging into the Palace, almost deserted as it was. She winced at the thought of them looting it, but that was surely inevitable, the soldiers' reward for risking their lives for her. So be it. She climbed the Serpentine Steps, and then she saw it! The throne that had filled her dreams for years. And, her nightmares. Her heart skipped. This was it! Ugly, but fascinating. She clambered up the iron stairs , and sat where her father had sat. Oh Gods! Crowned beast though he was, he was the blood of the dragon. They all were, good or bad. She saw her men facing her, some kneeling beneath her, others on their feet, joyfully acclaiming her victory. But then in a flash she saw so much more. She saw the future! She saw herself, screaming in agony, as the ice spear pierced her heart, thrown by the Great Other, even as Drogon withered him with flame. She saw the children of the city, centuries hence, skipping as they chanted "The Mad Queen, The Mad Queen, a million deaths weren't enough for her"! She saw the crowds on Samhain Eve, burning her in effigy as they roared and sang "Blood on your hands Dany, Blood on your dress. Burn for your crimes, Dany, Burn at the stake!" She saw herself as future generations would see her in the city and the Reach; whore, monster, abomination born of incest, an object lesson in the folly of allowing a woman to sit the Iron Throne. The destruction of the Others in the North, nothing more than a piece of her propaganda. A lie told to justify her tyranny, and the tyranny of Jon Snow who would succeed her. 

And, then she wept for the city she had just killed.


	37. Picking up the Pieces

Dany sighed as she considered yet another claim. This from a Pentoshi Magister, resident in Kings Landing, whose warehouse had been destroyed in the fighting. Two days after the capture of Kings Landing, she was inundated with petitions and claims. She worked in a small chamber, with her scribes, behind the Kings Door. She slept on a camp bed in an even tinier chamber adjoining it. Tyrion, Varys, and Lord Baelish worked in the Great Hall, taking decisions themselves, but referring the most important to her. Hundreds of people were waiting their turn in the Hall, and in the courtyard outside. How she longed for Missandei to help her! Once more, she felt a wave of guilt for her murder. Never again would she see the woman she had loved more than anyone in the world. She had planned to tour the city, but her advisors had persuaded her that the survivors might try to murder her, so she remained in the Red Keep. Fires still smouldered, although the worst of the burning was over. Perhaps two thirds of the city had been destroyed. Most of her soldiers had been withdrawn from the city, although more than five thousand remained stationed in the Palace. It had been thoroughly looted, but at least her men had not destroyed it; they knew she intended to live there. She had given orders for the population to be fed and housed. But, it would be weeks before they could seriously tackle these problems. She had no choice but to segregate the victims of the Pale Mare, most of whom would die. She could do nothing for them. 

She heard a commotion, outside the door of her chamber. There was a knock, and Tyrion entered. "Your Grace, you should attend this. It is extremely important". She rose, and left with him. She ascended the Iron Throne. And, there, kneeling before her, was none other than Margaery Tyrell, surrounded by her guards. Another woman held a babe. Set aside, were half a dozen grinning soldiers. 

Margaery raised her head to speak. She sported a black eye, and other bruises, and her dress was torn, but, even on her knees, she still spoke proudly. "Your Grace. I seek mercy, not for myself, but for my child, Joanna, and my cousin, Lady Elinore. They are innocent of any crimes against you. As for me, I submit to your Grace's judgement." She felt a sudden stab of pity for the woman, even now. The rest of the family were missing. Perhaps dead, perhaps in hiding. She did not have it in her heart to hate Margaery, who might have been her friend. 

"I will not punish an infant girl for the sins of her parents. I have no quarrel with Lady Elinore. Their lives are not forfeit." She saw the relief on Margaery's face. "As for you, Lady Margaery, I will not make a decision in haste. Lord Tyrion, please arrange for them to be accommodated in the Maidenvault. I wish them to be closely guarded, but to be treated with courtesy." 

Her Hand visibly relaxed. Had he expected her to butcher them on the spot? He led them out, with a small detachment of guards. "Your Grace!" cried a man. "We brought you the whore and her brat. We claim our reward." 

"Who are you?" 

"Her bodyguards" he answered, smirking. "But, we were always on the side of the true Queen." 

"I see. Did you swear fealty to the Lady Margaery?" 

"We did, your Grace. But, we never meant it". 

"You never meant it". She gave the man a hard stare, seeing his smile falter. "Well, I must reward you then. Zengi !" she called, as the man came forward with a score of his men. "Reward these men as traitors deserve." The Unsullied seized them, disarming them with ease. Their leader screamed "This is an outrage. We did you a favour!" Zengi struck him across the face. 

"I shall do you a favour in return. You will not face the full horrors of a traitor's death. Behead these men, at once, Lord Prefect!" The Unsullied dragged them from the Hall.

"Your Grace, may I speak in private?" asked Lord Baelish. She descended from the throne, and gestured him to follow. Varys joined them in her chamber. "Surely, you cannot mean to spare Margaery Tyrell?"

"Nor her whelp" commented Varys. "Neither has to suffer unduly; a draft of poison, a pillow over the face, and the line of the Usurper is extinguished forever." 

"Your Grace" said Littlefinger. "Thousands of people have died in this city. Perhaps tens of thousands. Why agonise over the fate of one traitor and her daughter?" 

"For the same reason I agonise over the fate of your wife, Lord Baelish." 

"My wife did nothing that your Grace did not do. Do you propose to punish her? That would scarcely be just." 

"You misunderstand me, my lord. War brings out a darkness in all of us. Myself included. I have spoken to the Princess Sansa, and to other witnesses. She feels intense guilt for what she commanded. I worry for her state of mind. I worry that she may harm herself. You should worry about such things. I would like her to leave this city immediately, and seek rest and quiet a long way from here. Her sister concurs. And, she needs the comfort of her husband while she recovers." 

"You promised to make me Master of Coin" he snapped. 

"A loving husband should prioritise his wife above such considerations. But, I shall keep my promise. Appoint a deputy, to serve in your place. If and when your wife is recovered, then I shall appoint her to my Small Council if she wishes, or make her a Lady in Waiting. You may take up your position, then. Which do you love more, Lord Baelish? Sansa Stark or your office?" She fancied she saw a glint of satisfaction in Varys' eyes. He had, after all, made similar arguments to her, the previous day. 

Baelish's face was a mask. "Of course, my dear wife's health must be my priority" he eventually said, between gritted teeth.

"Good, then that is settled. As to Lady Margaery, yes, I fear she must be put to death, but not in secret, and she must be treated with dignity. She is a lady of the highest rank. I think I shall allow her to choose the manner of her death. Or she may take her own life, before witnesses if she prefers. But I need time to consider the matter. And, let me make this clear. I will not take vengeance on her child. Never raise that subject with me, ever again! Either of you!" 

Baelish and Varys bowed their heads in agreement, before leaving the chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Kings Door is located behind the Iron Throne, and leads to a network of small chambers.


	38. The Execution of Lady Margaery Tyrell

On the morning of her execution, two months after the fall of the city, Lady Margaery dressed with care. After taking a long bath, she put on a black velvet gown, fringed with seed pearls. Lady Elinore tied up her hair with a black ribbon, so that the executioner's sword should not be impeded. She prayed for a time with a Septa, before saying goodbye to her daughter, and to Elinore. She had asked to die by the sword, and for her body to be interred with that of her husband. She had been allowed to attend his burial, several weeks ago, a kind gesture which she appreciated. The Queen had visited her in person to inform her of her sentence. She thought that Daenerys had seemed uncomfortable, and she respected the fact that she had faced her, rather than have the news delivered by a minister. She had been told that the estates of the Tyrells and most of their Bannerman, were now forfeit to the Crown, but that her daughter would be held as a ward until her sixteenth name day. Then, she would be allowed to inherit Storms End. Lord Selwyn would be her guardian. Lady Elinore would act as her governess. If their positions had been reversed, she hoped she would have acted similarly; but she knew full well her grandmother and brother would have been more cruel. They might not have put Daenerys to death brutally, but they would certainly have led her in chains through the city. Nor would they have allowed a child or hers to live.

She recalled their conversation. They had talked for several hours, about the war and the future. In good faith, Margaery had offered Daenerys advice about ruling the country, which she seemed grateful for. It seemed that Kings Landing was being fed, the wreckage cleared, and temporary accommodation erected, although it would be years before the city was restored. Daenerys would spare no expense, rebuilding it on a far more impressive scale than before. She spoke of her schemes to build aqueducts, so that the people could have fresh water. It seemed too, that Lord Tyrion had something of a genius for engineering. He was charged with overhauling the sewerage system built by King Jaehaerys.

"To be honest, your Grace" she had said "Kings Landing was a slum with a handful of palaces. If you can make it into a city like Oldtown, the people will bless you."

"They won't, Margaery. I can't even set foot in this city without a huge military escort. The people would tear me apart, otherwise. And can I even blame them?"

"Perhaps for now. But, if you make their lives better, they'll see you differently in time."

"They won't. I've seen the future. If it's any consolation to you, future generations of these people will spit at the mention of my name, and burn me in effigy. "

"It's no consolation."

"You had the gift of making the people love you. I don't".

"I'm sure the slaves you freed, loved you."

"Anyone would look good by comparison with their masters. They were animals, who murdered, raped, and tortured, for their own profit and amusement." There was an awkward silence, before Margaery offered "I played no part in my family's treachery towards you. " Daenerys looked offended: 

"I would hope you could be honest with me at least. I'm afraid I don't believe you. " The conversation had terminated at that point. She had wondered if Daenerys would visit her again, but apparently not. 

There was a knock on the door of her chamber. It was time. Lord Tyrion was present with half a dozen guards. He led her through the Maidenvault, and into the main courtyard, and then to the Great Hall, where she would be beheaded. It was a beautiful day, sunny, with a fresh salty breeze coming in from the sea. She wanted to savour it for the last time. She climbed the Serpentine Steps and entered the Hall. Daenerys was present, on the Iron Throne, dressed like her in black, with dozens of courtiers and officials, all dressed in sombre colours. A scaffold had been set up before the throne, draped in crimson velvet. Ever observant, she noticed that Lord Varys was missing. Surely, the Master of Whisperers should be present for such an occasion? 

As she was led to the scaffold, the headsman knelt before her, asking "Please forgive me Lady Margaery. I do as I must, and bear you no ill will." 

"I forgive you" she replied, handing him a small purse of coins as was customary. Then, she mounted the scaffold, intending to give a final speech. She would praise the Queen for her justice and mercy, and wish her long life and prosperity. This too, was the custom. 

Daenerys rose from the Iron Throne. "Lady Margaery, you have been sentenced to death for treason and regicide. However, I have established that you were not, in fact, guilty of treachery at the parley. That was the work of your grandmother, brother, and father, who withheld this knowledge from you. The charge of regicide must therefore be dismissed. But, the charge of treason remains. It is not customary to put a woman of rank to death on such a charge. Queen Rhaenyra spared both Queen Alicent and Helaena Targaryen when they attempted to usurp her throne. Your life is not forfeit, therefore." 

Margaery was no coward, and had prepared herself to die. But still, she felt weak with relief. 

"There are, however, conditions, which you must abide, upon pain of death. You will dwell at Storms End with your daughter, Lady Joanna Baratheon. You will never return to the Reach or this city. Should you wish to travel more than twenty miles from Storms End, you will first seek my permission. I will allow you to remarry if you wish, but you will first seek my consent to your choice of husband. Lord Selwyn will remain your daughter's legal guardian. He is of course, obliged to maintain her in a state appropriate to her station; I have instructed him to ensure that you are provided with sufficient funds to maintain yourself in comfort. You may receive visitors, but subject to Lord Selwyn's prior approval. Are these terms accepted?" 

"They are, your Grace. They are generous", she said, curtseying to the Queen. 

"Good. I bear you no ill-will, Lady Margaery. " 

She would never be free, but she would live in comfort with her daughter, who would inherit in her own right. It was so much better than she had expected. 

Why did the Queen spare her? To find out the answer to that, one must see how events unfolded the previous day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. A high-ranking girl who has lost her father becomes a ward of the Crown. Her guardian is not necessarily her mother, but rather is appointed by the Crown. Giving Margaery guardianship of her daughter would have meant giving her effective rule of Storms End, which Daenerys had no intention of doing.
> 
> 2\. Queen Rhaenrya took Helaena Targaryen and Alicent Hightower captive, during The Dance of the Dragons, but they were both spared.


	39. The Spider Shows His Hand

"I share your hesitations and doubts about the Princess Ellaria, but she holds Dorne fast, and will secure the Stormlands for us. Red Ronnett's army has been disbanded, so we must rely upon her men. Your own men are needed to secure this city, the Reach and the West. Especially, now that Lord Baelish has returned to the Vale "

"I agreed that certain castles in the Dornish marches would be ceded to her. I fear she'll swallow the whole region. "

"Perhaps. But, truly does it matter? It is admirable that you should wish to secure Joanna Baratheon's inheritance, but Ellaria's ambitions don't imperil your rule."

Daenerys sipped from her goblet of wine, as she and Lord Varys discussed the state of the Realm in the Small Council Chamber. She frowned. "I've no desire to create an over mighty subject." 

The eunuch smiled. "The point about over mighty subjects is that they overreach themselves. They make themselves hated by their peers. Did you know, she enjoys feeding her enemies to a pair of she-bears? That is, when she is feeling merciful; she can be extremely creative towards her captives. When the time is ripe, why, remove her. Indulge her; make her think she has your confidence; smile at her. And, then strike at her, when her guard is down. Or if you prefer a more subtle approach, we can remove her more discreetly. Dornish princesses die from "chills". They choke on olive stones, and fall from their horses." He smiled nastily. She knew this was a man of devilish cruelty and cunning. "And, what does that say about me, " she wondered, "that I should have taken such a man into my service?"

She drank another draft of wine, before frowning. Then, she gave a sudden gasp. "Is there a problem, your Grace?" asked Varys, solicitously. 

"I feel.....indisposed" she muttered, wincing again. 

"I'm sure you would do. Please, your Grace, I bear you no ill will. You must understand, I do this for the Realm." 

"You? You've poisoned me?" she said, shocked. 

"I can assure you, there will be very little pain. But, I fear it is necessary." 

"Why Lord Varys, why? I took you into my service, and you kept me safe. Why now?" 

"Alas your Grace. The Realm needed you. There was no one else, I believed, who could have overthrown Cersei. But, Olenna Tyrell outwitted her. Still, the last thing the Realm needed was for Tommen and his beautiful wife to establish a dynasty of their own. I needed you to overthrow them. Despite your own best efforts, I might add." 

"What are you talking about?" she gave another gasp. 

"The Field of the Cloth of Gold. You and Margaery were becoming fast friends. There was a real danger that you might even work out a peace agreement together. That was the last thing I wanted. Lord Tarly had already put out feelers to me. I knew that he planned treachery, and I encouraged him in his plans, with aid of Princess Ellaria, I should add. I knew what Ser Garlan intended at the banquet. I realised that you were likely to survive a fire (I certainly did not divulge that piece of information to Tarly). After such a rank act of treachery, there could be no peace. I was sure you would win the ensuing war. 

"He was right to accuse the pair of you of treason." 

"I daresay he was. Naturally, he and his accomplices had to perish. Very viscerally." 

"Was Margaery Tyrell involved?" 

"No. I was adamant she must not be informed. She might have told you what was afoot."

"But, why kill me?" 

"The Realm needs a new ruler". She saw his eyes gleaming, almost with lust; if a eunuch could feel lust. 

"And that ruler is you?" she guessed. 

"That ruler will be Tyene Martell. A swift march with her army through the Stormlands, and Princess Ellaria will be able to place her daughter on the Iron Throne. Her daughter will need a Hand, to guide her, to ensure she makes the correct decisions. That Hand is me." 

"A bold and brilliant scheme. " She saw the eunuch grin. "A pity for you then, that my servants should be more loyal to me than they are to you" the Queen replied drily. "Tyrion!" she yelled, swiftly drawing her dagger.

Her Hand burst through the door with a group of guards, with swords drawn. And a young kitchen girl. 

The Spider looked for a route of escape, but there was none. He shrugged, and smiled ruefully

"Martha. That is your name?" she addressed the girl. 

Yes, your Grace. " 

"Show us what Lord Varys asked you to place in my food." The girl held up a small vial. "Devil's Dance is it not, Lord Varys?" 

"It is." 

" Martha got cold feet. She went to Lord Tyrion. See now, my lord. You have a choice. You can take the poison you intended for me, or you can face a more public execution. Which would you prefer?" 

" I should prefer to die with a glass of wine in my belly, your Grace." He poured himself from the carafe. Tyrion took the vial from the girl, and emptied it into the goblet. Varys raise it to her in salute. "Well played, your Grace" and then downed the draft in one.


	40. Five Years On

On the fifteenth day of the Month Without Gods, half a decade after taking the city, Daenerys Targaryen raised her banners on the parade ground, outside the city. She stood beside her dragons, in front of the assembled soldiers. Zengi, Daario, Marsalen, Andar Royce, Lord Sunglass, and the other commanders stood before her, Arya alongside her. Thousands upon thousands were gathered. Dothraki, Unsullied, men of the Vale, the Crownlands, the Stormlands, the Riverlands. But few from the West or the Reach. The people there would always hate her. Her lords struggled to keep control of those regions. Lady Megga could scarcely venture safely outside Highgarden. Her own visits to these regions were met with hard stares and sullen glances, though scarcely any dared to challenge her openly. Nor, indeed from Dorne. The recent assassination of Princess Ellaria, by relatives of Prince Doran, had sparked a succession battle, between them and Tyene Martell. Not that it mattered. She led a mighty host, to a war she would not survive.

She addressed the crowd. "Comrades. Five years ago, you overthrew tyrants, to restore the Realm's rightful Queen to the Iron Throne. We now face a greater tyrant. A demon of ice who threatens to enslave the world. We march North, to save the whole Realm. We march to glory and to victory!" "But, I doubt if I will ever see that victory" she thought, even as the soldiers roared their support for her. She mounted Drogon, with Arya behind her, and launched into the air, accompanied by the other two beasts. The army began to march. She circled above Kings Landing, which even now, remained a building site. The first aqueduct had been constructed, and thousands of homes built in brick and stone, in place of wood. Not that it made any difference. The inhabitants of the city mostly hated her, and so would their descendants, she knew. She had her supporters, in districts settled by immigrants from the Crownlands. But the survivors, and immigrants from the Reach were the vast majority. She had exiled half the city's council after one of their number pledged a drunken toast to the "true Queen, Joanna Baratheon" at a civic banquet, to enthusiastic cheers. Joanna Baratheon? Had she been wise to allow her to inherit, she mused, as she flew away from the city? Well, that would not be her problem, before long. Lady Margaery had certainly behaved with discretion, even reporting to her an attempt by disgruntled lords to recruit her into a conspiracy. Daenerys had varied the conditions of her exile, allowing her to reside where she wished, so long as it was outside of the Reach. She preferred to remain at Storms End.

"I can't wait to meet my brother again. I'm sure you can't either", Arya wryly commented to her as they flew North from the city. She had returned from her travels a few months previously. Daenerys had frequently flown North, since taking power, to discuss the threat from beyond the Wall with Jon Snow, the King in the North. Thousands of soldiers had been sent to man the Wall, no longer required to take the oaths of the Nights Watch. 

"It's hardly a secret any more that we're in love. Do you approve?" 

"I'm very happy for the pair of you. Sansa told me she was scandalised at first, but she's come to terms with it. She's always been prim and proper. Will you marry?" Arya's sister had chosen never to return to Kings Landing, due to the painful memories it brought her. To everyones' surprise, Lord Robyn Arryn was still alive, though incapable. She and her husband ruled the Vale in his place. 

"If he wishes, yes, although I can never bear him a child. But, I doubt if I'll be alive long enough for that to matter. He can always remarry." 

"I don't believe the future's set in stone, Daenerys. What you have foreseen is a possible future. Or more than one possible future. Now you can take steps to avoid it. " 

"Perhaps. But, I think the Gods will have their due. The steps you take to avoid your fate just bring it closer. I fly to my death". 

"I say you might now fly to your death. Or you might die in your own bed, forty years from now. Or anything in between. Do you even know that the witch told you the truth? That you could never bear children?" 

Had the witch lied? It had never occurred to her. Could fate even be fought? But what was her fate? Her heart soared. Live or die, she would save the world!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess, this needs a sequel.


	41. Afterword:  Of Heroes and Monsters

I've been thinking a bit about this story, especially in light of the current debate about which historical figures should be commemorated, and which should have their statues and monuments erased. On this theme, I'd recommend Kathryn Warner's excellent Edward II blogspot, and in particular, her Ten Commandments for writing history:-

http://edwardthesecond.blogspot.com/2012/05/ten-commandments-for-writing-about.html

The Ten Commandments should also apply to anyone who writes fiction, especially historical fiction, or fantasy fiction which is loosely based on a real time period such as this story. The majority of people who have held positions of power, throughout history, have neither been wholly good, nor wholly bad. There have been monstrous rulers, and a far smaller number of saints, but most fall on a spectrum between the two. 

Was Daenerys in this tale, a heroine, or a sociopathic butcher? Let's assume you're asking people about her, a few hundred years after her death. The people of the Bay of Dragons would view her as a legendary ruler, who brought their ancestors freedom (and perhaps she would still be worshipped as a goddess in the region). The people of modern-day Kings Landing would revile her as a genocidal maniac, who slaughtered their ancestors out of her desire to wear a crown. Other regions of Westeros would no doubt hold differing views about her.

One has to cut some slack to people who find themselves at war. "War brings out a darkness in all of us" as she put it. That doesn't mean that warfare justifies any form of behaviour, however bestial, but nor can one pretend that war is anything other than brutal. Most people today would regard World War II as a just war, but none of us can be happy with everything that the Western allies did, during the course of that war. Why not just become a pacifist then? Well, pacifism also entails abandoning other people to suffer and die. Had Daenerys shrugged and moved on, when she came to Astapor, thousands of lives would have been saved; and hundreds of thousands of people would have continued to suffer appalling cruelty. And, she knows that she is the only person who is capable of fighting the existential threat posed by the Others. 

So, was she a heroine? Certainly, in my view. Did she have feet of clay? Again, I think that is certain. She could be very cruel to her enemies, and the burning of Kings Landing was brutal. While she may have intended her reprieve of Margaery to be an act of clemency, it was, as one reviewer has pointed out, gratuitously cruel to make her go through a form of mock-execution. On the other hand, she tried to avoid civilian casualties wherever possible. Her enemies were not so scrupulous. In the end, the burning of Kings Landing was an act of necessity - easier to justify than say, the incendiary bombing of Tokyo or Dresden, in 1945.

Daenerys, Sansa, Margaery, Arya were all deeply flawed people, in this tale, but none was rotten to the core, in the way that people like Ser Garlan, Lady Olenna, Lord Tarly, Varys, or Ellaria were. Perhaps the only two people who could be thought truly good were Tommen and Missandei, who played relatively small parts in the story. 

When it comes to our ancestors, all that we can do is to emulate their virtues, while trying studiously to avoid their vices.


	42. Afterword 2

There is now a Part Two underway


End file.
